Shards
by thebluninja
Summary: More serious sequal to Lord of Distractions. The Worldstone is shattered, Belial is plotting, and Diablo has returned to the mortal realm. Can the seven heroes reunite and save the world one more time?
1. Chapter 1

****_Author's Note: I wrote this after I finished Lord of Distractions. It's also a repost of my writing from nearly a decade ago. Hopefully I didn't miss any typos as I went through it. For obvious reasons, it is completely AU, since it was written long before Diablo3 was released._

**Chapter 1**

Jaresh huddled down lower in the bushes, doing his best to not shake and give away his location. Close by, he could hear the clanking noise of the golem, hunting through the forest after him. After a few moments, he heard it moving away, and he risked moving a little bit to see.

In a rush, the golem came crashing back towards him, and Jaresh leaped up, dashing away with a squeak. But golems are faster than five-year old boys, and it picked him up by the back of his tunic. "Alright, now you've earned spankings," his father's voice issued from the grille-like mouth.

Jaresh crossed his arms. "Not fair! I just wanna play some more before suppertime!"

As the golem carried the boy back to their house, Tharos' voice chuckled forth. "You have chores that you promised to do this morning, Jaresh. No more time for playing."

Subdued, Jaresh carefully climbed the spikes on the iron golem to perch across the shoulders. Always curious, he played with a reddish shard of stone embedded in the golem's forehead. Before long, the trees fell away behind him, and Tharos, his father, stood outside their cottage on the edge of the village.

As the golem slowed, Jaresh leapt off, landing with a thump in his father's arms. As promised, the necromancer turned his son over and whacked his bottom a few times with the wand. "I told you this morning at breakfast to do your chores on time," Tharos admonished as his son wailed. "Now get inside and help your mother with the cooking."

Enticed by the smells of dinner, the boy bounced inside, pain forgotten. Tharos sighed, looking at the golem. Surprisingly, the shard of Worldstone he picked up at the mountain kept the magic going. It was fortunate for the necromancer and his wife - while they certainly could afford a pair of oxen to plow the fields of their home, the golem was stronger and more dependable.

With a last look towards the setting sun, he turned to go inside. But down the road from the village came Aragon, his face troubled. "Good evening, Aragon," Tharos called out, turning from the door to meet him. "What brings you out this way?"

The farmer wrung his hands, stumbling over his words. "It's the babe," he said. "I think she's caught the fever."

Now Tharos' expression mirrored the other. "Dear angels in Heaven," he muttered. "Let me get my bag from inside, and I'll see if there's anything I can do."

"Th-tharos?" Aragon fought back tears as he stuttered. "If anything should happen to her, will she be in Heaven?"

He clapped a strong hand on the farmer's shoulder. "All children are free of sin, Aragon." Abashed, the man lowered his face. "Don't worry about it too much right now. Go back home, I'll be there quickly."

Tharos went quickly into their two-room cottage. It seemed small, but it was the finest house in the village. Oksana looked up from the fireplace, one hand absently rubbing her swelling belly. "What is it?"

"Another case of fever. Aragon's new babe." He took down the few pouches of medicine, then stopped to stare into the fire for a moment. "I'm not the one who should be doing this, curse it! I'm not an apothecary or a doctor."

She came over, wrapping her arms around him. "You're all this village has, my love. Besides," she smiled, "After defeating Baal, you said you wanted somewhere small and quiet to raise children. Being a healer is hardly the worst thing we could be doing."

"True." He patted her belly, where their second child was growing. "Keep an eye, or a leash, on Jaresh," he said, looking at their son where he carefully cut carrots into the pan.

Sighing, he hefted the bag of herbs and potions, departing into the sunset towards the village.

* * *

"But he must return to Kurast!" The messenger barely ducked out of the way as Larzuk lifted the cherry-red iron out of the fire, bringing it around to the anvil.

"No, he doesn't. Rupert runs the new cathedral out here, and the Kurast council can come here if they want." Lifting the massive hammer, he pounded the end into a proper leaf shape for a spearhead. "It's barely half-built, and they want to drag him halfway across the world?"

The messenger ducked as the chisel separated the iron head from the rest of the iron bar, dropping it into the bucket of water to hiss. "They're making him a bishop. His duties won't allow him to remain here."

"Won't allow who to remain here?" Rupert stepped in the door, slapping sawdust from his clothing. He looked up to see the messenger, and frowned. "No. I don't care what the Council says. I'm building this cathedral here, restoring Tristram, and if they don't like it, they can come here and throw me out of the Order of Paladins."

Helpless, the man shrugged. "Sir Rupert, I have to return with you! The Council orders you to become a bishop."

Rupert made an offensive gesture, and Larzuk boomed in laughter as the messenger reddened. "Absolutely not, and that's final. I managed to help defeat the Prime Evils, so no bunch of priests sitting in a gold-decked temple halfway around the world can order me to do anything I don't wish to." Ignoring the protests from the messenger, Rupert stepped over to a table, picking up a wineskin and taking a squirt of the sweet white.

At last, the messenger fell silent, apparently thinking. "Sir Rupert, the Council did expect that you might not wish to obey their orders. If you do not return, they have ordered that all shards of the Worldstone here in Tristram be confiscated and returned to Kurast to be placed into their care."

"What?" Larzuk roared, narrowly missing the man with another red-hot iron bar. "They have no authority here, and no justification to do that either!"

Rupert held up a calming hand, and the barbarian slowly subsided. When he finally spoke, his voice was slow, calm, and chilling. "Go back to Kurast and tell the Council, that if they attempt such an order here, or anywhere my friends and I are, then they have sided with Hell, not Heaven."

Turning, he stalked out of the blacksmith. The messenger fled after him, and Larzuk walked to the door, still holding the cooling piece of metal with his forge tongs. Sure enough, Rupert was climbing the side of their home, where the cages for his carrier pigeons were. As the Council messenger tried to climb the ladder, the paladin irritably kicked it over.

In a few minutes, the first bird winged away into the sky, flying northwest. "Telling Garou and Jezebel first," Larzuk chuckled, before turning back to his forge and reheating the iron. Soon enough, two more birds vanished into the morning sky, to warn the heroes.

When the third bird had flown off, Rupert allowed the messenger to put the ladder back up, and he climbed down. The man was almost deathly pale. "You turned against the Council," he whispered, aghast.

By this time, a fair crowd had gathered to watch their leader square off. "Turned against the Council? Are you daft, man? Do you know anything true about my past with the Council?" Rupert shook his head angrily, and started walking back towards the half-constructed cathedral.

"First they demand I submit to their judgement for breaking paladin custom. This is after I rescue them from the effects of Mephisto's spell. After I prove them wrong, in their own halls of judgement, they grudgingly grant my request to rebuild the cathedral here at Tristram. Now that I've finally got work going, they try to call me back?

"No, no, a thousand times no!" Rupert whirled on the messenger. "Take yourself back out of Tristram, back to Kurast, and tell the Council that they should spend a little more time praying to Hadriel and Gabriel for guidance, and a little less time doing their back-room deals to make the church richer at the expense of the common people!"

With that proclamation, the entire village started ignoring the messenger. He stayed at the building for an hour, with the workers moving around him to raise the massive wooden crossbeams for the cathedral roof. Finally, with an air of defeat, the man left Tristram, climbing back onto his horse and taking the road southwest to Kingsport.

* * *

The axe spun through the air, shearing through the deer's neck and embedding itself in the tree trunk. Ron Bars trotted over, pulling free his weapon and carefully lifting the corpse of the animal. "Well?"

Ellonwye sniffed. "I still say that using an axe to hunt game is like using an arrow to shoot flies."

He groaned, tossing the deer over his shoulders. "There is no pleasing you in anything, is there?"

The old woman cackled. "Isn't it a law of the earth, that no mother ever finds a man good enough for her daughter?"

He chuckled, perhaps a little unwillingly. "Perhaps you should meet my parents. I think you would like each other just fine." He leaped over a fallen tree, waiting for the amazon to clamber over it.

Ellonwye chuckled as well. "Well, in your favor, there are many worse men that Erris could have chosen for a mate."

They slowed when they reached the amazon village. The majority of the town was gathered around the open square, and a messenger dressed in the uniform of the Kurast Council, arguing with one of the village elders. "The Council of the Holy Church of Kurast has made this proclamation, and you must abide by it!"

The elder laughed, mockingly. "Your church and council have no influence and no power in our islands. They have no right to demand our pieces of the Worldstone to abuse for their own wealth."

As they argued, Erris moved over to join her husband and her mother. "He showed up a few minutes ago," she said angrily. "Who do they think they are?"

Ron Bars shook his head. "This isn't a good sign," he said. "If they're demanding pieces of the Worldstone here, what demands will they be making on Mount Arreat?"

Erris carefully patted his arm, avoiding the blood dripping from the dead deer. "I don't know. Do you think it's worth it to try travelling?"

Ellonwye sniffed. "This time, daughter, if you demand to go travelling, then I am going with you."

She laughed. "And what does my father think about that?"

The old woman smiled, a twinkle in her eye. "He and I sometimes enjoy some time apart. It is not like you do not plan to return."

Ron Bars shrugged. "I think, before we travel that way, we should send messenger birds to Rupert and Jezebel. They are closer, and probably have a better idea of what is happening."

Ellonwye laughed, watching the messenger being run out of the village by a group of warrior women. "Perhaps your friends have already sent messages here, as well."

* * *

The staff smashed against his with a rounding clack, and Garou dropped to his knees. Unfortunately for his student, it was a feint, and as the boy drew back his staff, the druid swept him off his feet. He hit the ground and lost his breath with a whoosh. After giving him a moment to recover, Garou prodded him with the staff. "Learn anything?"

Zared rolled over, glaring. "What's the point of this, anyway? I am a sorcerer. Even if magic isn't as strong without a shard of the Worldstone, I can still stop a simple attacker."

"Not if he hits you first, or with the advantage of surprise," Garou argued back. "Besides, sorcerer though you may be, a shard or two of Worldstone you might have, you still cannot cast an infinite number of spells. Ask Jezebel, you'll see."

Zared grunted irritably, tossing the staff to Garou. "Then why aren't you training me with a useful weapon, like a sword?"

He chuckled as he caught the staff. "Anywhere there's a tree or a large bush, you can get a staff. Now get out of here." Garou stacked the two staves against the wall, and whistled. Dogmeat and Stew came gallivanting inside, their litter of puppies rolling and tumbling along after them.

He gave all of the dogs some attention as he looked outside, gazing down the hill westwards towards the Gulf of Westmarch. Dogmeat licked his face, and one of the puppies yelped as another stepped on her tail. "I'm not sure if founding this school was such a great idea, Dogmeat," he mused. The dog just barked, and Garou chuckled. "Stay here and guard the house," he said, whirling a cloak around his shoulders.

Fall was fast approaching, even here on the coastline. Out in the gulf, he could see the fishing boats returning. Turning his steps towards the stone building, an old keep from ages long past, he rubbed the shard of Worldstone that made up the clasp on his cloak. The keep was where Jezebel had helped found a new, public school of magic.

In theory, the school was a place where practitioners of all branches of magic could meet, discuss how to best continue using magic in a land where only shards of the Worldstone still powered spells, and train apprentices. Unfortunately, the various factions in the school - remnants of the Vizjerei, the Zann Esu, some of the druid tribes, and even a few followers of Rathma, the necromancers - spent more time arguing and backbiting over which group was the most powerful and most deserving of additional shards of Worldstone that could be found, bought, or even stolen.

The two guards at the front gate let him in with respectful nods. Garou barely acknowledged them as he strode past, lost in thought. He and Jezebel had been over this argument several times in the past year, over whether or not to leave the school. Somewhat to his surprise, it was her presence alone that seemed to keep the groups in check and prevent open feuding.

He found the main hall soon enough, and from the sounds of raised voices inside, it was yet another debate. In the middle of the hall was a messenger from Zakarum Church, and the various delegates of the school were arguing heatedly. Finally, Jezebel raised her staff, launching a lightning bolt to bounce off the ceiling.

"Quiet, everyone!" Garou was surprised at the sheer anger in her voice. "I am head of this school, as too many of you are wont to forget." She glared impartially around the room, before returning her gaze to the messenger. "What you ask is simply intolerable. My academy will never acquiesce to such an outrageous demand."

The messenger bowed his head. "Mistress, the Council bade me warn you - if you do not comply with their demands, then they will consider this an act of war, and shall respond accordingly."

One of the Rathman priests rose from his seat, hollow skulls on his necklace making an odd chiming noise. "Given the history of the Zakarum Church, the followers of Rathma would see every shard of Worldstone ground into dust before your church controlled them." Other calls were heard from around the room, mostly supporting the necromancer.

Garou was about to open his mouth and respond, when Munin whirled into the room, flapping across to alight on his shoulder. Tied to his leg was a scrap of parchment. Most of the room fell silent while he read the paper.

Letting it fall to the floor, Garou strode forward. Most of his fellow druids watched him from their table. "Bring this message back to the Council of Kurast - if they persist in such an unreasonable and unwise course of action, they might very well hand the keys to our world over to Baal and his brethren."

As he turned around, the messenger sneered, "You would know so much about that, wouldn't you?"

Calmly, the druid looked back over his shoulder. "I faced down five of the seven leaders of Hell. Moreover, four of my friends who stood by my side feel as I do. This would not be the first time that your church has been misled by demons." He turned again, striding for the exit.

"Traitor!" The shout echoed for several moments in the great hall, and no one moved, watching the reaction of Garou and Jezebel. "Do you truly think it is wise to go against the will of the Church of Zakarum, the messengers for the angels in Heaven?"

To almost everyone's surprise, Garou started laughing, a deep, happy, innocent laugh. "Oh, you poor boy. When you've actually seen an angel or two, and talked to them, then maybe you won't be so proud of that title." Still chuckling, he exited the room, Munin preening on his shoulder.

Some minutes later, Jezebel met him in her office. She took comfort in his embrace, shaking with weariness and exhaustion. "Do you think that the Council would truly be so rash?" she asked him quietly, eyes closed.

He guided her to a chair, tossing his raven towards the cloak rack at the door. "It would not be the first time that a group of humans had followed a truly unwise course with the best of intentions." He stroked her back, kneading away the tension. "That was a message from Tharos. He says that the fever grows in the eastern part of Entsteig. It might soon become an epidemic."

She raised her face worriedly. "Could all this truly be the cause of breaking the Worldstone? The kingdoms of humanity fragmenting, diseases sweeping across the land, and this madness put forth by the church?"

Garou shook his head. "More likely, it is the last attempt by Hell to throw this world into chaos, before magic fades and our world becomes unreachable by both Heaven and Hell." He kissed her gently. "It will pass."

She smiled thinly. "I hope so. Oh, I do hope so." She kissed him again, and a third time. Smiling a little more broadly, she turned, and threw the bolt on the door, leading him over to the cot in one corner.

* * *

Sareal stood at the doorway to the cell, staring through the small grate at Maffer Dragonhand. Even after the Compelling Orb had been smashed, the demonic alterations of his body had left the former priest insane. The new Council had gone to some effort to subdue, rather than kill him. Sareal had spent months down here in the caves beneath the temple, listening to the fallen priest rant.

Sometimes it had been incoherent, but occasionally he would catch a few words that sounded sane, or even brilliant. Once he had started writing down those scraps, and putting them together, he had realized the true plan that he was meant to do.

When Tyrael had shattered the Worldstone, pieces flew all over the world, landing all over every land. Even now, the Church was financing great expeditions to cross the Great Ocean to the south, and to the far eastern side of Kehjistan, to discover and bring back what pieces of the valuable stone that they could.

Only a few pieces had not been scattered across the world. Since Baal had begun, if only briefly, his corruption of the Worldstone, Tyrael had taken the corrupted pieces and hidden them around the world. From his research and divinations, Sareal knew there were five pieces, and he had four of them now secured in a vault below these caves. Once he had all five, and enough pieces of the original Worldstone, then his plan could go into effect.

Light flared from around the corner, and the priest turned irritably. "Eminence, are you down here?" a voice quavered from behind the lantern. "Not good for your health to be wandering about down here, you know."

He grunted again. "The blessings of Heaven will protect me, Wulfe. I have nothing to worry about on this mortal earth while I am doing their bidding." He almost turned back to the cell door, but the scaled Maffer had fallen into his half-sleep state.

The old man shrugged his hunched shoulders slowly. "As you say, Eminence. We common folk can't be so risky without the blessings of the angels." He turned back towards the stairs, leading his master back upstairs, into the sunlight.

Several hours later, sometime during the wee hours of the night, Maffer awoke. Howling in fury and fear, he threw himself around the cell, smashing into the walls and tearing at the steel door that barred him from freedom. "Lies," he screamed out, "lies, all lies, he tells through my lips!"

But no one was there to hear him.

* * *

The members of the village were gathered around their small graveyard, set into the side of the rocky hillside. Aragon wept, his arms around his two other children. Tharos did not cry, but his face clearly spoke of his own grief and anguish. "Friends, we are gathered here to lay to rest this poor child. She is with the angels in Heaven, and her body now returns to nourish the earth."

His ceremony was a mixture of his own Rathman rites, and the burial customs of the Zakarum church. When he finished speaking, Aragon and his wife lowered the tiny casket into the ground. Chanting the ritual prayer, everyone filed past the grave, throwing a handful of dirt on top, until the wood was completely covered.

Tears still rolling down their face, the family stayed by the grave, quietly accepting the insufficient words of condolences, the only thing their friends could offer over such a tragedy. Soon, the hole was filled, and Oksana put a comforting hand on Aragon's arm, leading the farmer and his family back to their home.

For almost an hour, Tharos stood in the middle of the graveyard, listening quietly to the faint whispers, echoes of the dead. Finally, he turned his eyes to the sky, glaring upwards with grief and anger. "Why?" he whispered.

"It is not something we can change," a familiar voice said from behind him. Tharos turned slowly, to look at Tyrael. "This fever is natural, not demonic."

He spat angrily at the angel, though twenty feet separated them. "What comfort is that to have lost their families?"

"I have no comfort to give, Tharos," he spoke dispassionately. "That is not my job. Their souls are in Heaven, and that is no longer concern of the living."

"Then why are you here, Tyrael?" Tharos glared, absently rubbing the shard of stone on the metal bracelet he wore. "Tell me your reasons and leave us be."

The angel was silent for several moments, turning to look east. "I bring warning to you," he said. "The Zakarum church is being mislead by Belial. The head of the Council believes that he can purify Baal's taint from the Worldstone and put it back together."

Tharos chuckled. "And what business is that of mine?"

"You are marked by Baal's blood." Tharos blanched, rubbing the scar on his arm. "You, and all your friends. To complete the ritual, the Council believes that they must sacrifice all of you."

"They want to bathe the Worldstone in human blood?" He laughed bitterly. "Shouldn't a priest know that would only make the evil more powerful?" Shaking his head sadly, the necromancer turned away, starting to walk down the hillside.

"That's not why I'm here, Tharos," the angel said, halting him. "The Church has gathered four of the five corrupted pieces. If they bring back the fifth piece from the Frozen Sea, then Baal will be able to return to this world."

He stood silently for a moment. "You think the demon will return to our world. And when the magic has faded, remain here."

Tyrael almost smiled then. "If the magic fades, this world will be like poison to angel and demon alike. If Baal returns, he will do everything he can to further corrupt the shards of Worldstone, and to kill every last mortal that he can."

"I understand, Tyrael." He stood for several moments. "I'll write to the others and warn them as well."

"They have already been warned." Suddenly, the angel fell silent. "Prepare yourself," he said, almost angrily. Tharos whirled around in silence, but Tyrael had vanished. In the afternoon air, he heard approaching horses, galloping.

Suddenly afraid, he raced down the hill, moving at his best speed for his home. Luckily, the door was open, Jaresh pulling weeds in the rows of wheat. "Get inside the house!" Tharos shouted, skidding to a stop and almost tripping over the threshold. "Get inside!"

Terrified, the boy dashed inside, huddling in the corner. Oksana looked up with surprise as Tharos suddenly threw open an old chest, that held their armor and weapons from adventuring days. "Hurry, put these on," he said, tossing armor her direction as he struggled into his own armor.

"Tharos, what is it? What's happening?" Struggling with the plate armor, she managed to strap it partially into place around her. She caught her weapons as well, flipping them in her hands before tying the sheaths to her legs.

"Tyrael just showed up to warn me in the graveyard." He lifted out the giant skull, pulling it around his face. "Apparently, the Most Holy Church wants to ritually sacrifice us over the corrupted pieces of Worldstone."

Suddenly, the hoof beats came up to their door and past. Oksana risked a look outside the window. "They must not know exactly where we live," she murmured, tying on a dragonhide sash.

Her husband strapped his shield into place. "Lucky for us. But if we don't hurry, they might just burn the village to the ground." Both prepared, they set off at a jog up the road to the village.

Sure enough, the soldiers had surrounded the village square, dragging people out of their houses to keep them at lance-point. "I won't ask again," their leader shouted angrily, holding a gilded helm under one arm. "Where are the necromancer Tharos and his wife, the assassin Oksana?"

"We're right here," Tharos spoke quietly. Surprised, the soldier yanked his horse around to face them, and two of the soldiers turned as well. "What does the Church of Zakarum want with two peaceful farmers?"

Scorn was etched across the soldier's face, but fear peeked through his eyes. "By the order of the Council of Kurast, you are hereby placed under arrest for treason against the Church." He waved his other hand, and the two soldiers started forward.

"The Council has no jurisdiction here," Tharos said, his voice still quiet. "Take your men, and leave us in peace." Though his spread and empty hands seemed peaceful, his wand was safely tucked away on the inside of his shield. "We wish no fighting here, but we will not leave our home."

Full of sudden anger, the man slammed his helmet into place. "You will return with us, foul necromancer!" Yanking his sword from the saddle, he gave a shout, and all of the soldiers but one turned to confront them.

Oksana snapped her fingers. From the roofs of a dozen homes came a blistering crossfire of lightning, leaping between the metal-armored men. Ghostly spirits shot forth from Tharos' wand as well, ripping insubstantially through them, breaking their spirit.

In less than a minute, only one soldier still stood, his eyes wide in shock. With deliberate care, Tharos lowered the wand at him. "Return to your Council. Tell them that future idiocy is unbecoming of leaders of their stature." With a whispered word, he cursed the soldier, sending him riding away in terror.

The villagers stared at the two warriors, dumbfounded. "What have you done, Tharos?" Aragon whispered.

Closing his eyes sadly, Tharos waved his wand. The ground gaped open briefly, swallowing up the bodies of the fallen. Remarkably, most of the horses were unharmed. "Tyrael appeared to me in the graveyard, and warned me they were coming." With a quick glance at his wife, he continued. "We have to leave now. The Council is being misled by Belial, and we must take up arms again."

He almost turned to go, when Oksana spoke. "Aragon, we cannot take Jaresh with us. Care for him while we are gone, and tell no one outside this village he is anyone except your son." The farmer's eyes widened in shock, but he managed to nod.

Selecting two of the horses, they mounted, and rode slowly to the west. "We should try and meet up with Garou and Jezebel first," she said, loosening the straps on her armor a little bit.

Tharos merely nodded in silence. When the sun set, they were many miles past their village.

* * *

Boris snorted as he carefully sliced away a thin peel of wood. Placing it back into the contraption, he tightened the small brass gear the armorer had made for him. Then, with a grunt of muscles, he picked up the giant machine, struggling to move it out into the hallway.

Students flattened themselves against the wall as he went past. Boris stood almost seven feet tall, an anomaly in the Viz-Jaq'taar training school. He could hear students gossiping and snickering behind him, but it had never bothered him.

Soon, he was crossing the courtyard towards the old monastery. It was the only place he could test out his latest invention, and he grinned at the sudden discomfort on the faces of the instructors as he stepped inside with it.

Students scattered as he dragged it up to the line. "Boris, by the blazing circles of Hell, what are you doing now?" Natalya crossed the room, arms crossed.

"I think I have it fixed, Nat," he said cheerfully. Disregarding her shout of protest, he grabbed the handles, and yanked on the triggers. With a roar, the first lightning bolt fired, and the rotating chambers spun about as he cranked them, launching bolt after bolt at the far wall of the cathedral.

Fortunately, the stone wall was almost six feet thick, and had been reinforced numerous times over the life of the school. The constant hammering of bolts threw stone chips everywhere inside the danger zone. When Boris finally stopped cranking, it fell silent, and he patted it with a giant hand affectionately. "I told you, I fixed it."

With a sudden yip, he pulled his hand away from the heated chamber. Holding his hand gingerly, he knelt down to inspect it. "You need to change the traps inside fairly frequently, but otherwise, this is the perfect thing to mow down an army of demons." He nodded sagely, before blowing on his burnt hand.

Natalya gave a scream of anger, throwing her arms in the air. "Boris, how many times have I told you, there will be no army of demons! The Prime Evils were banished back to Hell, and they can't come back into our world."

The giant man shook his head. "Diablo's Soulstone wasn't accounted for. And as long as the shards of Worldstone are around, demons can be brought back." He cocked his head, smiling mockingly. "Otherwise, you wouldn't have been sent out last month."

Her lips narrowed as she glared at him. "Fine, there might still be demons, and corruptible mages, around for a while. Why are you still working on these, these," she stuttered for a moment, hunting for the right word, "toys?!"

He drew back a little bit, affronted. "Once the mages are gone, there is no more use for our order. Even now, as magic fades from importance in the world, we have less use for new students." He sniffed, carefully testing the heat on his device before picking it up. "I, for one, am not content to simply sit around here, practicing and practicing for nothing!"

Hefting his contraption again, he stormed out of the cathedral, returning to his workroom.

* * *

Early in the morning, shortly before dawn, Rupert crawled out of his bed. Larzuk murmured something sleepily and pulled the fur blanket back over his head. Moving quietly, he dressed in the crisp fall air, slipping outside. By the time the sun had risen, he was already down by the cathedral, measuring out blocks of stone for the base of the walls.

More people came as the morning sun climbed the sky, taking up the tools of construction. He smiled with pride as he looked at the finished skeleton of roof timbers on the cathedral, and the rear of the structure had in fact almost been completed. It was an astonishing amount of work for a scant two years.

Rupert threw himself gladly into the day's work, helping out with kind words as well as muscles. This was what he truly considered to be the work of a paladin - helping out people in need, not just from physical menaces, but also by strengthening their spirits.

Shortly before noon, he looked up as a cawing raven alighted on the top of the frame. Shading his eyes against the sun, he looked up, catching what looked like a scrap of parchment tied to the bird's leg. "Munin?" he called at the bird. Sure enough, it cawed back, dropping down and landing on the pile of bricks nearby.

Hurriedly, Rupert untied the note and read the shorthand. Garou had confirmed his plan. With a heavy heart, he shredded the scrap of paper. "Please, everyone, listen to me," he called out as he stepped up onto a pile of timbers. "The Council in Zakarum is making a grave mistake. Because of this, I need to leave Tristram for a while." He hesitated a moment. "When I leave, all the shards of Worldstone here must go with me."

There were cries of protest from around the construction site and the edge of the village. "Please!" he shouted, and some of the voices subsided. "This is not something I do lightly. When I return, I will bring back as much as I can. But if the Council comes here, they will confiscate it, and you will never see any of it again." He looked around at the people he had come to lead in the last two years.

Everyone looked frustrated, but a few of them broke off into the village. Rupert followed them, going first to the forge. Larzuk stopped his hammering when he came inside. "Well?"

He nodded. "We're going to meet up with Garou and Jezebel. I asked the villagers to give me all the Worldstone. I don't trust the Council," he said.

Larzuk laughed. "And so what if you don't? They don't have power here. And even if they call you a traitor and kick you out, you can start your own stinking Council here, if you must." He clapped a callused hand on Rupert back, before turning back to the forge. "When do we leave?"

Surprised, Rupert looked back at him. "You're coming with me?" Smiling ruefully, he shook his head. "What am I saying, of course you are. If the Council sends warriors here for me, they'll be just as happy to take you back instead."

Larzuk waved the glowing red iron piece as he curled the end for a hinge. "Right you are. Besides, it'll be good to see Ron again." With a sputtering hiss, the metal dropped into the bucket of water, and Larzuk tossed his thick forge apron aside. "Well, let's get moving then."

Between the forge and their house, they collected the dozen shards of Worldstone that the village had to offer. Without them many things would not function, such as the magical spells to purify water or the lifting cranes for the cathedral construction. Still, such things had been done without magic before, and still were in most corners of the world.

Bidding a sad farewell, they set off on the road north to meet with their friends.

* * *

Garou sat next to his wife as the leaders of the magical academy discussed their war plans. "I know it is not the most favored plan," the Rathman priest was saying, "but a force of skeletal warriors will make an excellent physical defense of the school. We must have a better plan for defending the ground than hiring a handful of mercenaries and throwing spells around."

"Griez did an excellent job defending Lut Gholein when it was under siege by demons," one of the Vizjerei said in rebuttal. "What makes you think he won't be able to defend this fort?"

"With respect," Jezebel interrupted, "This school is not designed to withstand a siege like Lut Gholein is. Second, while skeletons might provide a temporary bonus as ground forces, these will be Church warriors coming against us. They will be led by paladins."

Quiet, unhappy muttering echoed softly in the room. Finally, one of the other druids stood. "Then your entire plan can be summed up by 'Wait and hope for the best,' and we must abide by this?"

Garou leaned forward. "It's not an easy thing for any of us to swallow. But the alternative, as Tyrael told me, is to allow Baal a chance to return to this world." He stared down the other druid for a moment. "We will have other allies before the church can reach us."

"For now, we must continue to plan, and do what we can to fortify our school." Jezebel looked around the room sternly. "The Church will not have an easy time bringing an army against us here, so far from their stronghold, so time is on our side for the moment." Slowly, the other school leaders began to leave their seats, still discussing plans in dispirited tones.

Once they were gone, Jezebel slumped in her seat, pillowing her head in her arms. "I don't know if I can do this," she whispered.

Garou rested his head next to hers. "Life is a difficult thing sometimes, Jezebel," he said quietly. "But look at what you have accomplished. No one else could have brought these groups together at all, let along had them working alongside each other for three years." He stood, pulling her to her feet as well.

Smiling just a little, she nodded, turning back to her office. They had a little time left to plan.

* * *

Ron Bars stood happily at the prow of the clipper as she shot through the waves. Ellonwye clutched the rail nearby, uneasy in the rough seas. "What are you so worried about," he called over the wind and the crash of the surf. "Another day and we'll be in Kingsport."

She glared in his direction. "Do not mock me, boy," she chided, looking back over the rail into the sea. "I have spent more time on a ship than you have spent away from your homeland. Things are not right." Indeed, many of the other amazon sailors aboard were ill at ease about the storm and the behavior of the seas.

He frowned, stepping back towards her, sure-footed even in the swells. "What's the matter? What's wrong with the seas?"

Glancing around, Ellonwye gestured him closer and lowered her voice. "You have spent a few years on our isles. Do you remember, three years ago, when the peak of Philios belched liquid fire?"

Remembering the volcanic eruption well, and helping to evacuate one village bare minutes before the lava had arrived, gave even the tough barbarian a shiver. "The seas were rough like this just before it happened, as well. That is why I worry."

A sudden panicked shout from the crow's nest made everyone look up. "Hard to port," he screamed, "turn hard to port!" As the ship started to lurch around, Ron Bars pulled his mother-in-law back from the railing.

Not a moment too soon, either. Just past where they had been came a sudden jet of sulfurous smelling steam. As the ship moved further away, other people moved to the stern of the boat, looking back on the sudden outpouring of steam and lava at the surface of the water.

Once Erris had helped secure a sail, she came over to join them, gazing back at the giant plume of mixed ash and steam. "That's going to be a navigation hazard at night," she said quietly. "Do you think it's something magical?"

Ellonwye scoffed. "Nonsense, girl of mine! The lava comes on its own schedule, not subject to man or magic. Someday, ten generations from now, that place will be an island, though a tiny one." They all stood watching it a moment longer, until it blended into the growing twilight.

* * *

Sareal sighed as he let Wulfe take off his ceremonial robes of office. "What a horrid day," he muttered to himself as his manservant undressed him and prepared the bed. "I never dreamed that these men, all of whom fought or fled in the face of Mephisto's power, would still be so cowardly and foolish."

"It's hardly surprising, Eminence," Wulfe said quietly as he fluffed the pillows. "They're scared about taking a risk." As he pulled back the blankets, the priest watched him for a moment.

"Yes, I suppose that's true," he said. "Still, is it really so hard for them to believe that the angels have sent me a sign of how to restore our world?" Stretching, he sighed. "Enough deep thought for the night. Send her in."

Sareal waited in his nightshirt as Wulfe tottered to the door and admitted the girl. Marked on her forehead was the symbol for thievery. It wasn't a permanent mark; that was, it could be removed with a special compound that the Church controlled carefully. "Are you ready to atone for your crimes?"

Her face stoic, she nodded, and began undressing. There were many benefits to being the head of the Council, Sareal thought as she knelt, naked, before him. Many benefits.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Joranor stood before the pentagram. The other four followers were there as well, each of them at one point. It had taken them days to get through the jungles of southern Kehjistan, even before they were faced with climbing the daunting mountain and crossing the rapids on the unnamed river.

Still, they had reached it, all of them alive and well. At least, the important members alive. From the corner of his eye, he could see the corpse of one of their guides, lying where they had dumped it after drawing their pentagram in blood. Taking a deep breath, Joranor began the ritual chant. The others joined in at the proper places, and their voices echoed through the half-ruined cathedral.

In the center of the pentagram, the red shard of Soulstone pulsed wildly. As their chant became more excited, it began to twitch back and forth, sliding around the middle of the pentagram. As it came nearer to each person in turn, their voice raised higher, trying to keep the others outdone in their outpouring. But the shard played no favorites, continuing its peculiar, hopping dance around the pentagram.

Finally, the shard jumped almost a foot in the air, landing on the inside edge of the pentagram at Joranor's feet. Their chant stopped abruptly, and he quickly trailed his foot through the blood, breaking it. Terror and fear flooded out, and from outside the ruined cathedral he could hear the cries of the pack animals. Reaching down, he picked up the red shard of Soulstone.

With careful deliberation, Joranor closed his eyes, and stabbed the shard into his chest. He screamed then, a ragged, betrayed sound, but his companions made no move to stop him. With a life of its own, the shard burrowed into his chest, until nothing could be seen of it except a jagged red mark, like a fresh scar. He slumped to his knees, and the others now began to move, glancing at each other and at him.

Then, with a sudden surge, he regained his feet. Red light shone dully in his eyes, and his visage seemed somehow changed. One of the others stepped forward. "Has it worked?" he asked eagerly.

Curling his lips in scorn, he swung an empty hand, as though throwing something. The others felt the rush of power as the spell passed them by, striking down the over-eager man. His face contorted in an expression of sheer terror, he almost managed to clutch at his chest before keeling over, dead.

"I am returned," Diablo said quietly. "You have kept watch over me safely, and the time is at hand for my new ascension." Underscoring his words, a crash of thunder echoed across the plateau, spooking the pack animals. As he turned towards the door, his body changed. His skin sloughed off like a snake, leaving behind scarlet scales. Giant, bony spikes burst forth in twin rows along his back, even as a massive tail sprang out from his buttocks. And by the time he reached the door, he stood almost twenty feet tall.

"When my ascension has come, you will all be rewarded greatly," the demon said, looking at them each in turn with cold, inhuman yellow eyes. As if suddenly coming to a decision, he waved his hands, bowling them over with magic. The three men screamed wretchedly as magic reworked their bodies from the inside out.

The first regained his feet first, sort of. His body looked as though it had been turned inside out, then mixed with other animals. Limbs jutted out at odd angles, all of them tipped with wicked claws, and flesh dripped wetly onto the broken stone floor. "You are Horror," Diablo whispered.

The second was almost ethereal, as though he was nothing more than a shadow breathed into life. But inside him, visions pulsed and swam, as though you could see them clearly only from the corners of your eyes. He hissed into the darkening storm, and it would have raised the hackles of any beast. "You are Nightmare," and thus named, he hissed with joy.

The third appeared almost ordinary. A bent and wizened old man, he leaned heavily on a rough staff carved from old wood. But a more careful examination would reveal the strange, darting eyes and sharpened teeth. Hidden in his cloak were poisons and a garrote, and his hands twitched as though waiting to inflict pain. "You are Torture," and the old man cackled, his laugh echoing through the building with a life of its own.

Diablo turned towards the door again, stooping as he stepped outside. "Follow me, my lieutenants. It is our time to teach these humans their place in the world." In expectation of the terror and punishment they would soon be extracting from the mortal world, they followed him into the storm, eyes shining brightly.

* * *

Belial watched the display of Diablo's power through his scrying magic. Alone in the darkness, he watched anxiously. For many centuries, while the Three had been banished to the mortal world, he had ruled over much of Hell. Even now, with Baal and Mephisto returned, he was still a power to be reckoned with.

An imp messenger appeared at the cave entrance in a blast of fire. "Your lordship," it began, but Belial stopped it with a wave of his massive clawed hand. He rose from his chair, cunningly crafted from the tortured souls of Hell, and stalked towards the tiny messenger. "Lord Mephisto requests an audience with you," the imp quaked in fear, vanishing in another puff of flames just before the Lord of Lies reached him.

Lifting his visage to stare out across the blasted, tortured landscape of Hell, he nodded. "I will be there shortly, brother," he whispered into the winds, and his words curled away. Smiling, his image shifted. Though his body did not change, robes of opulent silk sprang into being from nowhere, and gems of many types suddenly studded his horns and claws.

Suitably attired, he strode across the gray wastes, sometimes accepting groveling demons as his due, and sometimes passing invisible and undetected. Before too long, he had indeed reached Mephisto's palace - a giant arena. Belial passed by the balrog guards without sight or sound, passing through the rows of stands like a wraith. On the arena floor, a pair of death maulers faced off against a pack of Fetish.

Mephisto sat, as usual, in his private box set just above the arena floor. A group of seductive harpies fawned over him, and Belial curled his lips in scorn. Leaping down, he crossed through the middle of the battle, undetected by all. Standing before the box, he cast out a little bit of his power.

Combat stopped at the demons reeled in confusion. None of them could remember who they were fighting. Mephisto sudden surged to his feet, looking out angrily, and Belial drew himself back to visibility so subtly that it took even the Lord of Hatred a moment to realize he was there. "Belial," he growled. "How kind of you to join us so promptly." Sinking back onto the cushioned throne, he waved absently at one of the seats next to him. "Why don't you join me? We have much to discuss."

With a false smile upon his face, he ascended into the box, and the spell of hatred was returned to the demons in combat. "It has happened," Belial said simply.

His elder turned to look at him suspiciously. "Are you so confidant that the others cannot witness what we speak of?"

Belial chuckled darkly. "Remember, brother, though I am not the most powerful in Hell, I was the first to stand by Baal's side when he split from Heaven." He accepted a giant flagon of wine from one of the harpies, then continued to ignore them. "My plans have never gone wrong."

Snarling, Mephisto slammed a fist down on his throne, and his harpy harlots drew back in fear. "You are such an upstart! What true power do you have?"

Belial waved his hand, and instantly the harpies were back to normal. "What power have I?" he whispered seductively. "My plan brought Inarius out of Heaven, weakening their ranks. My powers turned Izual traitor, and gave Baal his opportunity to destroy the Worldstone." He suddenly reached out, tearing one of the harpies to pieces, and the others did not even react when he sprayed blood in their faces.

"With my powers, how do you even know I am here, Lord of Hatred?" Holding the head in his hand, he sucked out the eyeballs, swallowing them whole.

Mephisto was silent for several minutes, pretending to watch the arena combat as he thought. "Tell me the news," he said at last, his voice wary and guarded.

The Lord of Lies nodded, dropping the head to roll along the floor. "Diablo has taken a new mortal body, a powerful warrior. He has taken three other mortals, imbuing them with demonic powers to aid him. The Zakarum Church has taken the bait, and are collecting the corrupted shards together. Soon, Baal will have his chance to return to the mortal world."

A new fight was breaking out, as the triumphant Fetish tribe hurled taunts at a trio of balrogs seated along the rail. Mephisto rested his chin in one palm as he watched them. "And what of my plan?"

Belial chuckled again. "Baal does not know that returning to the mortal world will leave him trapped there forever," he said smoothly. Rising from his seat, he almost bowed to Mephisto, stopping at just the right moment to bring a furious scowl to the elder demon's face. Then, vanishing from sight, he strode back across the arena again.

Once he left, the other harpies suddenly found themselves spattered in blood, with one of their sisters shredded and abandoned on the floor. As they started to shriek and cavort in anger, Mephisto started laughing. Soon, it echoed through the entire arena, a diabolical counterpoint to the sounds of battle.

He stepped forward, unknowingly crushing an insect beneath his feet he joyfully joined the battle.

* * *

Tyrael and Hadriel leaned back from the crystal ball as the image suddenly vanished with a disgusting final view of Mephisto's foot. "That was impressive, I must admit," Tyrael said. "How did you manage it?"

The other angel chuckled, leaning back with his hands behind his head. "Well, remember when those heroes fought through Hell after Diablo? Waiting around for them, I had these ants in my pocket. Just after they passed, at the moment I vanished, I dropped them there." He grinned broadly. "Then back here in heaven, I found them a safe hiding spot to breed, and sent them forth to spy on the leaders of Hell."

Tyrael shared a thin smile. "It is impressive, but I am surprised that Belial hasn't picked up on it already." Hadriel grimaced and Tyrael shrugged. "You haven't tried to infiltrate his sanctuary, have you."

"No, and I'm not going to," Hadriel said firmly. "They're small, and subtle enough to get past anyone else in Hell. But nothing has ever escaped Belial's notice for long, especially not if you push it under his nose." He gestured at the crystal ball. "That's why I try to use these as little as possible."

"Then how do you have such detailed comings and goings of Asmodan?" Tyrael asked, slightly confused.

"Oh, please. Belial and Asmodan hate each other with a passion not even Mephisto could match. I've got two ants riding around on him at all times." Both of them shared a chuckle, before Hadriel rose from his chair and draped a piece of white linen over the crystal ball. "Things to do, Tyrael. We don't have much time before magic probably does vanish from the mortal world."

"I know," Tyrael said quietly. "What worries me, is why banish Baal back to the mortal world permanently? I'm not even sure how Diablo's Soulstone returned, and without magic then the two of them will perish. But what does it accomplish for Mephisto and Belial?"

Both angels looked at each other, uneasy in their ignorance. Tyrael strode to the door, pausing before he left the small study. "As you said, too many things to do."

* * *

Natalya looked over the wall at the army, layered outside the walls of the school. The war banners were emblazoned with symbols for the Zakarum Church, and she swore quietly. They had appeared out of the jungle less than an hour ago, and seemed just as surprised to find an old, but still standing, monastery.

Boris tapped her on the shoulder, and she almost shrieked. "What do you want?" she hissed angrily, letting her cloak of shadows drop. "Aren't you even the slightest bit concerned that they'll see you?"

He gave her a sardonic smile. "Natalya, my dear, I went through the same training that you did. They can't see me if I don't want them to see me." His quiet, sarcastic tone seemed to hover in the air a moment. "Anyway, I have a plan."

"If it involves large contraptions mowing down scores of armed soldiers, then I'm not helping." As he glared at her, she relented. "Fine, tell me."

"We can have the whole school evacuated in under an hour. Get the students out of here to one of the safe points in the jungle." He paused to look over the wall. "Keep a couple of the instructors here, and see if we can't just use our psychic powers to drive them away."

Natalya narrowed her eyes. "You mean, let a group of paladins into our school, and then try to scare them away?"

Boris looked grim. "The alternative, as you said, is trying to mow down an army of armed soldiers with large contraptions." They were both silent for a moment while she digested their slim choices.

Swearing, she punched her thigh. "Fine. I'll start evacuating the school. Take some of the best students, and put traps everywhere. I want those paladins and their lackeys so scared of taking a step through here that they won't have time to search." She rolled forward, and leaped down the inside of the wall.

Boris risked one last look over the side. The two leaders of the force, paladins without a doubt, were already organizing to chop down a suitable tree for a battering ram. Dropping off the wall himself, he ran for his workroom. Outside the door, he grabbed two of the older students. "Grab this," he gestured to his contraption, "and carry it into the courtyard, facing the front gates."

As they dragged it along the stone floor, he sat in front of his workbench, and started creating the biggest firebomb he had ever made.

* * *

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Colin?" the younger paladin asked, watching soldiers stripping branches away from the giant trunk.

The older paladin rubbed at the stubble on his face, and glanced at his companion's face. "What did you have in mind, Will?"

"Well, the place looks abandoned." He waved at the empty, moss-covered walls. "I just don't think it makes a lot of sense to break down the main gates when we can probably get in peacefully."

Colin chuckled, and clapped a hand on his shoulder, leading Will back towards the walls. "It's not abandoned. Look around - no jungle vines climbing the wall, a clear area outside the walls, and the roof tiles of the monastery are still in pretty good shape." He shook his head sadly. "If the people inside were still followers of Zakarum, they would have recognized the banner and opened the gates."

One of the lieutenants overheard them and spat towards the building. "A monastery all the way out here probably wasn't built by humans," he muttered.

Colin gave the man a mild glare. "No, this was definitely crafted by humans. I once saw the outside and inside of the cathedral built by Inarius." He fell silent for several moments, before finally shivering. "Trust me, this one was built by humans."

"Well, shouldn't we at least try to talk peacefully with whoever is inside?" As the other two stared at him, Will's ears started to burn, as a bright red blush crept over his pale skin. "It hardly seems righteous to break down the door without even finding out if they are hostile."

After a moment, Colin started to laugh. Before long, he was gasping for breath, doubled over, and soldiers had stopped work to whisper and point. "Ah, from the mouths of babes," he wheezed. Trying to control his mirth, he straightened up, giving the other paladin a light punch in the arm. "Go for it, lad, give the door a good hard rap, and see who opens it."

His blush even darker from his embarrassment, Will marched up to the large gates, pounding on them with a mailed fist. The noise echoed inside the walls for a moment before dying away. The army was close to silent as he lifted his fist to try again.

Just then, a small window in the main gate creaked open. "Who's there?" a bass voice cracked out. From the sound, the old man was half mad. "Come back to steal my home, have you?" he ranted.

The younger paladin took a step back, clearly surprised, and glanced at his superior for a moment. "No, we're not here to steal your home. We are from the Zakarum Church. We have been ordered to find the city of Viz-jun and confiscate their pieces of Worldstone." Digging into his belt pouch, Will pulled out a chunk of the red stone.

The voice inside screamed in horror at the sight of it, pounding his head against the gate. "The stone, they took it, burned with it! My family, my family …" His voice trailed off, and the two paladins exchanged concerned looks. Soldiers from the army were muttering darkly, many of them reaching uneasily for weapons or making signs of warding against evil.

Backing away from the door and the crazy man, Will quickly strode back to Colin. "Now what do we do?" he asked uneasily. "If that old man is the only one who lives here, he's crazy as a bat!"

Colin mused for several moments. "Let's get the army moving again. Obviously, this place is nowhere near Viz-jun." He looked up through the tiny holes in the jungle, trying to gauge the position of the sun. "We'll keep heading north, and hope we can find the river again. Curse this hell-spawned jungle!"

As the army slowly picked up and moved past the monastery, Boris leaned against the inside of the gate, wiping nervous sweat from the inside of his forehead. Gesturing to a terrified student standing nearby, he whispered, "Find Natalya and tell her to get to Viz-jun before that army does. They won't be turned around for very long, and we can't let them have the Worldstone."

He glanced back outside, watching the army march away. The only blessing was watching them move the wrong direction, as Viz-jun lay five miles to the west.

* * *

Tharos and Oksana reined in their horses as they approached the roadblock leading towards Raveil. The soldiers manning the blockade, less than a mile outside the city, were all dressed in the uniforms of the Church, were looking at every person, and searching every wagon that went past them. Another group of soldiers, probably belonging to the local baron, were arguing heatedly with their leader.

Tharos glanced around worriedly. Due to the unusually large number of travelers, their golem hadn't been spotted yet, but it was drawing quite a bit of attention. Oksana leaned over and put a hand on his arm. "Don't worry, I know how to handle this."

Spurring her horse, she slowly pushed ahead through the crowd. Some of the people on foot looked up irritably, but at the sight of the high quality armor and weapons, stayed wisely quiet. When she stopped beside one of the roadblock soldiers, he gaped up in surprise.

Quickly, she waved a hand in front of his face, and it went slack. "We are not the ones you're looking for," she said quietly.

"You are not the ones we are looking for," he echoed dully. His companions nearby echoed him.

"We may go about our business," she said, keeping eye contact with him. Again, the soldier echoed her as though he lacked his own will. Quite ordinarily, she flicked the reins, and they began moving again. Tharos glanced at her several times, but stayed silent until they were past the city walls and out of sight.

Only then did Oksana suddenly slump in the saddle, gasping for breath as sweat broke out all across her face. "Are you alright? What happened back there?" he asked quietly as they moved quickly through the city.

Smiling weakly, Oksana straightened up again in the saddle. "I used some of the psychic skills every assassin is supposed to learn." She groaned, rubbing her temples with one hand. "It's been so long, I forgot how difficult they were to use."

He glanced around the crowded street, where their golem was attracting stares and gossip. "We'd better get out of here quickly, and move further west even faster. Otherwise," he glanced behind them warily, "it won't take long before those soldiers realize they've been tricked, and very easy for them to follow us."

With the winter sun shining down, they nudged their horses through the growing city crowd.

* * *

Rupert grabbed the line, slinging it over the side to the waiting dockhand on the pier. One of the other sailors called something to him, but it was lost on the wind. The sharp tang of salt blew in from the west, and Larzuk came up from the cabins below deck. "So, we made it here safely," he said. With a heavy sigh, he lifted the gangplank, extending it down to the pier. "Now I suppose we have to change to a larger ship."

Chuckling, Rupert led him down onto the rough wood and into the city. "Well, how else do you propose reaching Garou and the others quickly enough?" Grumbling unhappily, the blacksmith conceded the point as they crossed the small town to the deeper docks facing the gulf.

They spent the better part of the afternoon canvassing the docks, finding a captain willing to take them north to Jezebel's school. "Not a good time to be sailing," one had told them. "Winter's coming on, and you can get icebergs floating in from the Frozen Sea sometimes."

Finally, Rupert stopped, wearily leaning against a large, empty crate. "How are we supposed to get there now?"

Larzuk put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "If we have to, we can travel up the coast into Entsteig, and buy horses to travel the rest of the way. It's not impossible."

Chuckling softly, Rupert squeezed his hand. "You always do know how to cheer me up." Straightening up, he shifted the weight of the mail he wore beneath his tunic. "Well, let's head back and see if we can find the Seahawk. I think the captain said he was heading north one last time."

Before they could go more than a few steps, a jumble of footsteps echoed from behind them. "Going somewhere, faggots?" a rough voice said. Turning, they faced down at least two dozen sailors. Most of them were clearly drunk, and many held jugs of wine with one hand, and weapons in the other.

Larzuk looked around, but there was nothing available that could be used for a weapon. Rupert slowly pulled his scepter from his pack, but it was obvious that he didn't want to fight. Another sailor sniggered. "What's wrong, pansy-man, too scared to prove you ain't got the balls?" He moved forward, waving his knife dangerously.

They were slowly backed down one of the docks. Previously bustling ships were now deserted, and very soon they had run out of room. "Time to fight now, you dirty child-buggerers," a third one called out, raising the wooden club he carried.

With a bang, his face shattered in a spray of blood and bone. Jerking around, the drunken mob stared darkly at the garishly dressed man who stood behind them. Dropping one pistol back into its holster, he waved the other at them impishly. "While this might only kill one of you, I wager you've heard of me around the dockside bars."

With his free hand, he dipped the royal purple tricorner hat he wore. The color almost matched the open blue vest over a bare and smooth chest. His shorts were the same color of blue, and almost form-fitting. "On the other hand, you can all jump in now," he waved a hand towards the ocean water, "and save your skins."

"It's that faggot captain, Sere!" the first sailor shouted angrily. "Get him!" The first of the mob started to rush forward, and his other pistol belched fire, doubling the unfortunate man over as his guts were perforated. Larzuk picked up a barrel, half-full of rainwater, and hurled it at the group. Several of them went splashing into the ocean.

The remainder, still about fifteen strong, faced down Sere. With remarkable speed, he had drawn a rapier and a dagger. The first two drunken men died quickly, their momentum carrying them past the captain to crash into the piled crates. The next one swung his club vigorously, but it swished harmlessly through the air. His heart burst from the rapier's riposte a moment later.

The last dozen slowed, watching their friends go down so quickly. Using his dagger point to readjust his hat, Sere laughed arrogantly. "Not so haughty now, are you? Take your sorry sodden behinds back to the bars where you belong." They carefully filed off, slinking away under three sets of watchful eyes. "So, you two certainly make a cute couple. Where are you headed?"

Sharing somewhat nervous looks, Rupert finally put his scepter away. "A small place west of Raveil. There's a school for magic users where we're supposed to meet some friends." Still cautious, they followed him as he strode off down the docks.

"Well, that sounds a bit dangerous to be travelling that far to the west." Sere pulled out one pistol, and quickly loaded it while they walked. "But I think I can take you there." He halted before a ship. It looked slim and deadly, like the captain, and the triangular sails were different than anything they had ever seen. "Welcome to the Smoking Trail," he said proudly.

Rupert looked the ship over carefully. "It certainly is different. Why aren't there any oar holes?"

Sere chuckled, leaning against a crate and loading his other pistol. "Ah, that's the secret, you see. With these sails," he jerked a thumb in their direction, "I can catch a wind going almost any direction. She's a lovely piece of work. So, are we going?" he asked, almost rhetorically as he strode up the gangplank.

Larzuk followed him. "If you can get us there, we'll work as ship's crew. I'm a pretty good cook."

Laughing, Sere strode to his cabin. "You could always share my bed instead."

His laugh cut short as Larzuk wrapped his burly hands around his neck, lifting the captain completely off the deck. He reached for his pistols, only to find Rupert's hands holding them in place. "A kind word of warning," the blacksmith said softly, "never suggest that either of us should be unfaithful."

Slowly, they let him down. Rubbing his tender neck, he smiled weakly. "I'll keep that in mind. However," he pushed the door open, "you can still share the cabin without sharing the bed." Though it wasn't widely decorated, the cabin did sport two surprisingly large beds, and a roll-top desk.

Looking around the small room, Rupert shook his head. "I don't think I've even heard of a captain as peculiar as you." From his sudden peals of laugher, Sere clearly took it as a compliment.

* * *

On the ice, Elfred almost slipped. The iron spikes, carefully strapped onto the bottom of his boots, helped him gain his balance again. The other five roped together paused while he planted his feet, and they trooped on through the darkness. They had traveled further north, until the sun no longer rose. Then they broke out the enchanted amulets of light, casting only a dim oval around their group as they crawled across the frozen landscape.

They had started out from the edge of the Gulf of Westmarch with fifty men and two ships. One struck an iceberg and sank, killing all aboard. The other twenty had run the ship aground, somewhere west of Mount Arreat. Hiking along the tundra shoreline, they continued north.

Elfred paused again, lifting his frozen and numb hand to look at the device within. At the center, the tiniest piece of Worldstone he had seen pulsed softly. They were closer, and he turned just a little to change their course.

An hour later, he fell, tripping over a sharp bump in the ice. The others moved forward, helping him to his feet. Then one of them gave a cry, pointing at the ice where he had tripped. As they scraped away the ice, the dark, pulsing piece came clear. The colors of a bruise, it seemed a mockery of life, and sent all new shivers through them.

Barely managing to pick it up with his other hand, Elfred dropped it into his backpack. Then, turning southeast, they started back. If they made the same time going back, it would take them at least two months to reach civilization. As he hiked, Elfred considered each person in the group.

Saven would be best, he decided at last. The burly man had certainly kept most of the meat on his bones, and when their supplies ran out, he would be the one they would butcher and eat to stay alive. Their lives meant nothing, so long as the shard returned to Kurast.

Half-mad thoughts whirling around his frozen skull, he plodded on, placing one foot in front of the other.

* * *

By the light of a waning moon, Diablo and his lieutenants gazed through the jungle trees at the small village. Fishing boats and barges were tied to small, bamboo docks, and the stilted houses were quiet and still. "Pick a house and feast," Diablo purred, watching them through hungry eyes.

Nightmare vanished into the darkness. Before long, from one house, he could feel the demon slipping into their minds, turning their dreams against them until their wills collapsed, feasting on their fears and tarnishing their hopes. They might live through the night, but even if they survived their night of terror, their spirits would never recover.

Horror lurched through the jungle, slurping across the marshy ground. Somewhere on his exterior, a heart momentarily surfaced in the jumble of exposed parts, beating madly before being swallowed up again. Tearing a door off its hinges with clawed, disjointed limbs, it wobbled inside. The family inside screamed, reaching desperately for anything to use for a weapon, but Diablo's magic left them isolated. One by one, they watched their loved ones be consumed into the roiling mass of flesh. When Horror emerged, it was only slightly larger.

Torture picked a third house, pausing before a window to paint his sharpened nails with a coat of poison. Then he carefully lifted himself inside, cackling quietly in glee. In a matter of minutes, he had crippled the family inside. Withering poisons were pricked into their skins, fingers and toes were broken, all to the sound of his quiet, mad laughter. When he returned, his nails and teeth were red with blood, and quiet weeping could be heard from the shattered children.

With a broad smile from their handiwork, Diablo raised his hands. All around them in the swamp, normal creatures were consumed, changing into dangerous monsters. Within seconds, they were upon the village. Shouts arose, but their resistance was short and unsuccessful. The victims of Torture and Nightmare even seemed eager for death after their torments.

With the village left in ruins, they continued towards the north, not needing to rest. The Lord of Terror could feel the draw of the corrupted pieces of Worldstone collected by the Zakarum Church. He had felt them, even during the years he spent, still trapped in his Soulstone. Only in the last year had most of them drawn together, and he knew it was time.

Baal had failed in his quest to destroy humanity, that was obvious. Maybe they couldn't be openly destroyed, but Diablo was willing to bet that humanity could be badly injured. Perhaps, like those villagers, they could be damaged so badly they would never recover.

* * *

Baal sat in the chamber that was his throne room. It was a giant underground cave, created from his own powers when he had first become the first among the Prime Evils, and briefly he wished for that simpler time, when there was nothing but his power and a simple opponent, waiting and willing to be crushed.

Andariel stepped out from one of the tunnels, looking at the lake of lava that covered most of the floor. "Do we need this privacy?" she asked quietly, almost seductively. "I thought I was coming here to discuss business, not pleasure."

He laughed, gesturing with a hand and drawing back the lava to form a path for her to ascend towards his throne. "Business first, dear sister. Then, perhaps, pleasure." They shared a laugh as she sauntered up, dressed in nothing more than a few flayed skins and her own magic. "You are sure why I called you here, aren't you?"

"Belial," she spat angrily. "That upstart whelp thinks he can reorder Hell to suit his own whims and trick us all into going along with it." The claws on her feet tapped against the stone as she angrily paced.

"We all did before," Baal said quietly. "His plans have always worked, as much as I am loathe to admit it." He tapped a hand against his throne of tortured souls, feeling them write in agony. "But this time he has gone too far."

Andariel stopped her pacing. "What has my little brother done now?" she asked quietly. Her body almost vibrated with the need to inflict pain on others, and Baal was never subtle with his admiration. "Does he need to be punished?" she asked, her voice almost a perfect imitation of innocence.

"He first sought to trick me into returning to the mortal world. But that plan was Mephisto's, which Belial was unwilling to implement." He scowled, talons shredding the flesh under his hand. "No, he seeks to use the corrupted shards of Worldstone to trap Diablo in the mortal world. As the magic fades, so will he."

"That is certainly … impressive," she said finally, eyes wide as she digested the plan. "More arrogant than I believed Belial capable of. He's almost grown up," she lamented.

"Don't let your feelings get the better of you on this account, Andariel," Baal snapped. "Even if he is finally showing a lovely streak of ruthlessness and brutality like the rest of us, he still has to be stopped."

"For the good of our cause?" she purred, and he raised his head in acknowledgement. "Then what do you wish me to do?"

Smiling, Baal drew her into his lap and whispered his plan into her ear. Shrieking with delight like a little girl, she turned, throwing her arms around his neck. "Ah, dear brother, you do give me the sweetest things!" She nuzzled his neck, biting lightly as he growled with pleasure. "Surely it can wait for a little while?"

Sharing a lavicious laugh, they shed their decorative clothes, and Andariel joined him on the throne.

* * *

With a deafening crash, the army entered Viz-jun. Warned by Natalya, the mage clans were prepared. Elemental magic and animated constructs struck down soldiers from afar, while soldiers in enchanted armor met the paladin-led warriors. But the holy auras dampened some magic, and waves of arrows clattered down into the city. Few sorcerers were struck, but ducking and dodging arrows gave the fighting men temporary magical avoidance.

Will caught a slingstone on his shield, skipping away into the afternoon haze with a loud clang. Singing a battle hymn, he swung his warhammer, battering away at the soldier before him. His horse had died earlier in the fighting, rearing at an opportune moment and taking an icy spear that otherwise would have killed him.

Another pair of fighting men stumbled sideways, crashing into his opponent and separating them. Looking around the chaotic melee, Will spotted Colin, standing guard over another one of the junior paladins, a flail in each hand. He ran across the battle, stopping only briefly to crack open a bone helmet like a bloody egg.

Coming up behind the elder paladin, Will waited for the right moment, leaping forward with his hammer swinging. His opponent tried to step back, but the point of his spear was entangled in the flail's chain. With a sickening crack, the man's arm bent, bone slivers flying out. As he fell back, Colin's flail wrapped around the other man's neck, and another of their men finished him off.

"What happened to your horse?" Will shouted over the clamor.

"Ran into a trio of pikemen. Only way to get free." He straightened his helmet and yanked his flails free. "Are we winning?"

"I think so. Brand, are you ok?" They helped the other paladin to his feet, and other than a minor cut on his cheek, he seemed alright. "We need to get to the city center."

Colin nodded. "Gather the other paladins if you can. We'll try to mass up and make a charge for it."

With a small vanguard of soldiers, the dozen paladins that could muster started their charge towards the bulk of the mages. Elemental magic shattered harmlessly against the overwhelming auras, and the warriors were like a bolt of pure fury as they tore through the defenders of Viz-jun. Several mages fell before them, being trampled underneath as they fought for the center of the city.

When they reached the central square, Boris smiled grimly. He'd spent the last two days building this new weapon, and now he was getting a chance to test it. One of his students grabbed the crank when the paladins came into view. "Now lad, now!" With both of them cranking for all they were worth, the device spun to life.

The long chain of crossbow bolts were barely threaded together with thin grass fronds, and the twin chambers shredded it effortlessly. The bolts shot forward in a stream of wood and gleaming metal. Colin roared, leaping over a falling warrior, and took a dozen bolts through his armor before he hit the ground. In confusion, the junior paladins started pulling back, but not before another three of them lay stretched out on the ground.

But in the end, even Boris' new weapon could not turn the tide. The Zakarum had more men, and more training. Groups of soldiers came pouring into the main square, and Boris couldn't turn his weapon fast enough to deal with every new breakthrough. Hurling a lightning web across the square, Natalya grabbed him by the shoulders. "Boris, we have to get out of here! There's too many of them!"

With tears streaming down his face, he took one hand away from the crank, reaching for the satchel on his belt. It flew across the square, and before it landed, the few assassins had fled. A deafening explosion ripped through the city, knocking almost everyone to the ground. "To the docks, quickly. We can still get out of here."

"Then what, Natalya?" one of the students asked fearfully.

"Then we go find somewhere to regroup our strength, and find out what the Zakarum Church thinks they're doing." Boris voice was full of pain and grief as he climbed into the barge, shoving it away from the pier. "So we can make them pay for what they did here."

* * *

"Look, Sareal, I'm not sure this is such a bright idea," Isorn said quietly. They stood deep in the tunnels beneath the temple in Travincal, facing the vault while they waited for the faithful paladin guards to open it.

"Are you so afraid of change?" he asked contemptuously, drawing carefully hooded glances from the guards at his loud tone. Together, they stepped into the vault. The stone room was filled with a pile of Worldstone pieces, glowing with their own power. "Think about it, Isorn! Unless we do something, no one in this fair world will ever know the touch of grace."

"That's not what I'm worried about, and you know it." The older, but junior, Councilman looked at the pile. "It's the other pieces."

Crossing to the fortified door on the inside of the vault, Sareal pulled out a curious, hollow key and unlocked it. "You mean the corrupted pieces." They stepped into the smaller room, where the four corrupted shards were carefully laid out on a piece of felt. Their closeness was deceptive, because thick sheets of enchanted glass separated them. "We can fix this, man, don't you see?"

Sareal's eyes gleamed with excitement, and perhaps a little fanaticism. His companion sighed softly, avoiding looking at the dark, pulsing shards. "I want things to become better again. All of us do. But your plan, it seems like madness. If it was the right course of action, why would Rupert have disregarded the Council and run off?"

In sudden fury, he whirled on Isorn. "They were tainted by Baal's blood. You saw it when he returned here. That is why I tried to have the others seized by force." The older man stepped backwards, cowed by the fierce gaze.

After a moment of silence, he bowed his head. "Very well, Sareal, I will support your plan for now. But on your head be the sins if something goes wrong." Turning, he moved from the room at almost a run.

With a sigh, he turned back to gaze at the corrupted shards, steeling himself. Every time he came down here, he could feel the waves of evil rolling off of them. It sent shivers through him, down almost to his soul, he thought. But he was strong, and he could face this trial none the worse.

Staring into the darkness, Sareal didn't realize he was whispering his thoughts aloud. Had a mirror been in the room, he would not have even recognized himself.

* * *

Oksana and Tharos gratefully dismounted, getting enthusiastic hugs from Jezebel and Garou. "Well, this is certainly impressive," Oksana said, looking at the old stone fort. "How many people do you have defending it?"

Garou chuckled. "Everyone pooled money, and we hired Greiz and about two hundred mercenaries. Kenny is around somewhere, though his curse finally lifted when we shattered the Worldstone."

"That's too bad," Tharos joked as a pair of novices took their horses around to the stables. "We could have used him for catapult ammunition."

Laughing and chatting about old times, they headed up the hill to Garou's house. Partway, Oksana paused, catching her breath and holding her belly with one hand. "You know, having one child wasn't that hard. But Jaresh never kicked quite this hard!"

Jezebel looked her over critically. "How far along are you?"

She shrugged. "Five months, or maybe six." Everyone exchanged worried glances, and Oksana looked annoyed. "I'm not so far along that I can't fight or help out, you know. I'm only with child, not crippled."

Tharos patted her comfortingly. "I would never suggest it, love. But you can't blame me for worrying."

Still discussing the upcoming war against the Council, they reached the house. Munin cawed, standing on the peak of the roof. In the street, Dogmeat and Stew chased around their puppies, getting close to full grown already. When Garou lifted his arm, the raven flapped down, displaying the tattered piece of paper tied to his leg.

He read it quickly. "Well, it's a message from Rupert and Larzuk. They're on a ship, and should be here tomorrow."

Tharos chuckled. "Glad to see neither of them has backed down for the Church."

Jezebel smiled. "Erris and Ron Bars are also sailing this way, with Erris' mother. The last letter we got from Munin should put them just inside the Gulf by now."

Oksana looked worriedly at the northern sky, quickly darkening as winter crept towards them ever faster. "I hope they get here soon," she said, echoing their fears.

* * *

Muscles straining, Ron Bars heaved on the rope. The sail grudgingly pulled in, fighting between the barbarian's strength and the fierce, icy winds. Another sailor grabbed his arm, urging him below decks before the storm became even worse.

He quickly slipped into one of the oar benches. Ellonwye stuck her head up for a moment, then shouted, "Come on, get those oars out and row! We've only got a few minutes before the storm really hits us!" He picked up the long oar, popping open the small hatch and feeling the wood toss in the waves. With the old woman shouting encouragement, most of the crew was on the oars, rowing. The ship lurched through the waves, and freezing salt spray came splashing in with every stroke.

Soon enough, they had to ship the oars again, tightening down the hatches. Then, for two hours, they had nothing to do but sit in the darkness, hoping that the captain and the minimal crew above decks could steer them through it all.

But finally, the storm ended. As he climbed back to look at the clouded sky, Ron assessed the damage. One of the main sails had been pulled away entirely, broken rope ends still flapping in the wind. Restless from his enforced stay below, he helped the crew dig out the smaller, spare sail and rig it up again.

At last, with evening approaching fast, he stopped near the bow to take a deep breath of air, and put his arm around Erris. They cuddled for a moment, enjoying the relative peace, before she frowned, leaning over the rail. "What the heck is that?"

Before night fell completely, they passed a giant iceberg, drifting across the Gulf to the east, still pulled by the storm.

* * *

Elfred stayed cowering in the ice hut he had built. The ice floe they were crossing had suddenly cracked, tipping out into the water, slowly being carried south by the current. After two months on the floating ice, the storm had struck. Luckily, the bricks of ice, over two feet thick, insulated him from the tempest, with the iceberg only swaying slightly as it was dragged along.

In the middle of the storm, it seemed to go on for days, nothing but the ceaseless rocking, the cold, and the last of his freeze-dried partners to keep his belly full. He awoke sometime after the storm had left him behind, but still he cowered in his ice hut, fearful of looking outside to discover where he was.

Finally, his mind feeling empty, he crawled outside. The sun was just dawning, and the sky was now clear of all but a few fluffy clouds. To the south, he could just barely see land on the horizon, and there were a few fishing boats. Sadly, all of them were staying well clear of the iceberg, and his mouth was too dry and sore to shout out to them.

Resigned to his fate, he sat outside on the slowly-melting ice, watching the world pass by him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

"Hurry up with that rope, you laggards! Before I decide you don't want your pay or shore leave," Sere shouted at his crew as they slowly eased into the docks. The Smoking Trail just barely fit into the shallow docks for the fishing boats, the largest of which barely matched the clipper. With a wink of encouragement at one of his crew, the gangplank was finally put down, and he put on a great show of reluctance as he determined the watches and handed out their pay.

Rupert and Larzuk watched him with a mixture of annoyance and admiration. His flamboyance could sometimes be grating, especially with his blatant attempts to seduce either of them. Even the blacksmith giving him a black eye hadn't deterred him. On the other hand, Sere was a constant, unflappable optimist, which kept the rest of the crew cheerful and working.

As the crew quickly dispersed to the dockside taverns and brothels, they tried to make a discreet exit. Sere came up between them, linking his arms with theirs. "Where are we off to, gentlemen?" he asked jauntily

Rupert irritably shook his arm free, scowling as he strode off the gangplank. "We're heading off to meet our friends. Thanks for the trip, we already paid you, good luck with your future trips." Larzuk followed him, giving Sere the choice of letting go, or trying to walk on the air next the gangplank.

"Look, Rupert, just wait a minute, will you?" The uncharacteristic seriousness in his tone gave them both pause. "You're obviously involved in something very serious here. I mean, it's not every day I see a trained raven as a messenger bird!" He chuckled, readjusting his trademark hat. "And you look like you might want some more friends. Or at least an ally with a quick ship in case you need an escape."

Rupert gave him a thin scowl. "And the chance that some of our friends might know someone you'd take to bed has nothing to do with it?" he asked suspiciously.

A broad grin returning to his face, Sere gave a flourishing bow. "Nothing whatsoever!" He straightened up, giving them a cocky look. "So, where are we headed?"

Groaning, Rupert looked up at the heavens. "Oh, fine, follow us. If you make a nuisance of yourself, maybe I can talk Tharos into killing you and animating you as a silent skeleton."

"With a bone like mine, I'd make an awfully strange skeleton, don't you think?" Rupert's roar of frustration and Sere's laughter echoed off the docks.

* * *

Will wet the cloth, sponging off the soldier's brow. His arm, cut off at the elbow, was becoming infected, despite the constant stream of paladins working to care for the wounded. Half of their force had fallen to conquer the city of Viz-jun, and every man who could walk was patrolling the streets. Two chests, filled with shards of Worldstone, were under armed paladin guard at all times.

Across the room, Colin was propped against the wall. Bandages covered his entire torso. His enchanted breast plate was the only thing that kept a dozen arrows from penetrating any further into his body. Another inch, and one of them would have punctured his heart. The gray-haired paladin weakly raised a hand and smiled. "How goes the battle, lad?"

Confused, Will looked at him. "We already won the battle and control the city."

Shaking his head with a painful chuckle, Colin shook his head. "No, Will, the battle for health. How are the other wounded?"

"Most of them are better than you." He looked a little abashed at his remark, and blushed. "Sorry. It's been a long day. I don't think anyone else will die from their wounds."

"It's alright, lad. You fought like a righteous angel when the battle came, and now you've got an even harder battle to save men's lives." He gave a broad smile, scratching at his bandages. "You'll make a fine paladin yet."

Embarrassed, Will busied himself with changing the bandage for another soldier. "Why did we have to do it? Why all the fighting and killing?" His eyes were haunted and full of doubt.

With a painful grunt, Colin pulled himself up. "Will, boy, the Council has a plan and a need for all of this Worldstone. They sent messengers everywhere, asking peacefully for it. Some places, like here, refused. Some even killed the messengers for it." He shook his head. "They chose to fight us, not the other way around."

Suddenly thoughtful, the younger paladin looked at him. "I've heard rumors around the camp, from the other paladins about the Worldstone. Is it true what they say?"

Chuckling, Colin leaned heavily against a table. "Well, lad, first I'd have to know what exactly it is they're saying. I don't put much stock in rumors."

Furtively, he glanced around the room. All of the wounded were asleep, and the two paladins were the only ones around. "That the Council knows of a way to put the Worldstone back together without the dark magic that Baal used."

Amused, Colin snorted. "The Council follows the lead of Tyreal and the other angels. Since they're the ones who shattered the Worldstone in the first place, why would the Council be daft enough to go against their wishes?"

Will ducked his head, abashed. "I suppose you're right, Colin. It just seemed like a nice thought, that's all."

"It's alright, lad. You're young, you'll learn yet not to take seriously everything you hear around the fires at night. Now, while you're up," he said with a grin, "perhaps you could find me something to eat?"

Smiling and reassured, Will strode out into the night to see what he could find.

* * *

Garou, Jezebel, Tharos, and Oksana sat around the table, staring at the odd character who had come with Rupert and Larzuk. "You say you're a captain?" Garou asked doubtfully. "Is the ship as badly painted as you are?"

Sere laughed, and twirled his purple hat. "Nah, the ship's a normal color. But it's the fastest ship on the seas, and she's saved me from pirates more times than I can count. Nothing like sailing right through a reef that a big-bottomed pirate can't touch, or changing directions and watching them keep going because they can't catch the wind."

Oksana raised an eyebrow, looking at Rupert. "How did you get dragged in by this guy, anyway?"

Scowling, Rupert dropped into a chair next to Jezebel. "He saved us from a bunch of drunken sailors. And he was the only captain willing to sail out here." He shook his head, rearranging his tunic grumpily.

"Well, it's nice to know we have a ship that can get out of here easily," Jezebel said quietly. "I'm certainly going to put up a fight against the Council, but this fort is too old to stand up to a real siege." She drummed her fingers on the table.

"Well, I'm not that good against a whole squad of armored knights," Sere said, "but man to man, I can outfight anyone I've ever met. And these," he patted his holstered pistols, "tend to give a nice shock if I have to face down a group."

"What are those, exactly?" Tharos asked.

Sere looked a little uncomfortable. "I got them from a friend out East. He called them flashdrakes. I just call them deadly."

Jezebel rose from her seat, walking over to inspect them. "Where in the East?"

Still trying to look jaunty, Sere shrugged. "About a thousand miles past the Sea of Light," he said with an airy wave. "I was barely more than a child, really."

Garou shook his head. "That probably makes you the first person to go that far and live to tell about it," he said wonderingly.

A little grim, he smiled. "The natives aren't the most friendly of folk. And they tend to have lots of these."

Jezebel sighed, returning to her seat. "Too bad we can't hire some of them as mercenaries. Well, Sere, you can probably find lodging down in the village. There is a small inn. We'll be in touch."

With another hat flourishing bow, the flamboyant captain strode out.

* * *

Erris untied the note from Munin's leg, and read it quickly. "We should reach them in about two days. Everyone else has arrived at the school, and Rupert apparently made friends with another ship captain." She turned the note over, and searched for something to write a reply with.

Ellonwye handed her a small piece of charcoal, and she muttered while she scratched out the shorthand. "Be there soon. Mother's coming with. Hope Oksana and the kid are fine." Tying it back to Munin's leg, she tossed the bird into the air. He cawed irritable, before circling the lower mast a few times and winging off to the north.

Ron watched the raven disappear into the distance. "I just hope we get there before the Council is able to muster their soldiers." In silence, they all contemplated the chance of arriving too late, unable to help their friends stop the Council's misguided actions.

* * *

Elfred awoke as the iceberg suddenly jolted. With a strangled cry of fear, he went rolling, grasping at the slippery ice. But, unable to find a handhold, he splashed down into the water. Fighting desperately, he pulled himself back up above water.

"Ho there!" The voice came from somewhere close behind him, and Elfred slipped under again in surprise. When he came up again, he tried to turn around. To his great surprise, the shoreline was less than a hundred feet away. The iceberg had apparently gone so far it crashed into the east end of the Gulf.

As he paddled for the beach, the iceberg slowly drifted back out again, the meager current pulling it south and west. The surprised farmer helped him out of the shallows, letting him collapse on shore. "Hold on man, I'll get you some water."

Elfred was content to lay there on the grass, gasping weakly. He could feel the shard, still safe in his pack, whispering to him. Slowly, he managed to sit up. The farmer was coming back, holding a rough wooden bowl. Sure enough, it was filled with fresh water, and he gulped greedily.

With the man's help, he stumbled to the rough, one-room cottage. The farmer's wife helped him sit down on their straw pallet, and gave him a hard roll of bread. "I'm sorry, but we don't have much to offer strangers," the farmer said. "Great angels in Heaven, you must have a story to tell when you've rested! Trapped on a floating iceberg." His voice was full of wonder.

Elfred lowered his face, gnawing on the bread. "You have enough," he muttered around a mouthful.

He slept on the floor that night, despite their protests that he deserved the meager straw bed. After two days, helping out a little around their farm, he almost felt back to normal. That night, he thanked the farmer. "I'll be leaving in the morning," he told them. "I have an important message to carry back."

Fingering his knife, he waited until the farmer's back was turned, and drove it into his heart. The woman screamed, clutching at the ladle she held, trying to fight him off. But Elfred's eyes were filled with darkness, and he knocked her out easily. "I can't have anyone knowing I was here."

He lifted her head, then slowly sliced her throat open, bathing in her fountaining blood. Deep in his pack, the corrupted shard pulsed.

* * *

In the main Council chamber, Sareal sat at the head of the table. Arrayed around him were two dozen paladins, the leaders of the army he was about to send. "You have pictures and written descriptions for the seven. We know where they're headed. Your ships are outfitted and will be ready to leave tomorrow just after dawn."

The senior paladin shifted in his seat. "Why the need to capture them alive, Eminence? I have no doubt that our force will be able to conquer this little fort easily, and collect the Worldstone pieces. But what makes them so important?"

He sighed. "Look, Benny, these seven were all marked by Baal's blood. Despite their heroic deeds seven years ago, defeating the Prime Evils, they have become corrupted. Only by bringing them back here, can we remove the taint from them, and from the dark shards of Worldstone."

"Oh, fine, I suppose we can get it done." He rose from his seat, straightening his embroidered tabard. "Come on, men. Get the troops organized, and bunked on the ships. I don't want us to miss the tide."

Feeling quite irritated, Sareal watched the paladins file out of the chamber. Flexing his fingers, he shouted into the empty room. "Wulfe! Where's my wine?" His aged servant was at his side before he even finished shouting, not even putting the chalice down before it was snatched away.

Gulping down the mulled wine, he tried to calm down. Finally, he slammed down the chalice, bending the thin gold stem. "Curse it all! Why must I be stuck with these incompetents for my subordinates? You'd think I needed to lace up their boots for them!"

Wulfe looked sad as he picked up the ruined cup. "They just don't understand your grand plan, Eminence." Sareal whirled on him in a fury, raising his hand as if to strike him, before backing down, his eyes still glinting dangerously.

"Of course they don't. But they are paladins, my paladins! They know I get my guidance from Heaven, so why must they question my every order as though Belial spoke through my lips?" He ranted on for several minutes, pacing around the table, while Wulfe cowered in the corner the whole time.

Finally, his temper ran out, and he flopped heavily into his chair. "Bring me more wine, Wulfe," he said quietly. His servant fled the room, glad to have somehow avoided being the target of the rampage.

All of this arguing with the paladins and the other Council members was making Sareal doubt his plan. Suddenly, he decided that what he truly needed was another trip down to the vault, to test himself against the dark, pulsing shards, and prove his worthiness in the eyes of the angels.

When Wulfe finally returned to the chamber, bearing a new cup of wine, he found it deserted. A bit fearfully, he quickly drank the wine himself.

* * *

Boris skulked through the edge of the bazaar. It was a dark night, and the thin crescent of moon slid between clouds. Out of their entire school, only eight people had survived. After two weeks of poling through the jungles, stopping in small and large villages along the river, they had stopped by hiding places for messages.

With the exception of Oksana, somehow the Zakarum Church had been hunting down their agents. One man was still alive in Lut Gholein, but all of the others had been imprisoned in Church strongholds around the world. Tonight, Natalya was scouting out the main jail in Kurast, seeing if they could break anyone out.

A soft snap echoed around the open square, and Boris pulled the shadows around him, peeking over the top of the thin bamboo stall. A pair of soldiers crossed quietly, chatting about something, waving their lantern carelessly. He was tempted to knock them out, or maybe kill them, but it would do no good to draw unnecessary attention.

He glanced up at the moon again. It was almost time for Natalya to return. Sure enough, he soon caught sight of her, moving across the stone and bamboo roofs of the marketplace. She paused, seeing the guards, then leaped over the walkway to the small temple a few feet away.

Boris waited until she was on the ground, and they started to return to their hideout. "Well?" he whispered.

With a mild glare, she put a finger to her lips, pausing to check a wide road before they dashed into the deeper shadows on the other side. Another few moments, and they were safe in the sewers. "It's not going to be easy," she said quietly. "The whole area above ground burns with torches and magical lights, day and night. No easy way to sneak in."

"We're not going to abandon them, are we?" he asked, a little angrily. "I know we have to keep ourselves safe, but can't we do anything?"

She snorted, stepping daintily over a pile of moldy something. "Of course we're going to save them. But first I want to try meeting with that black-market man again, to find out if there's another entrance into the jail." They fell silent again, carefully picking their way across a particularly smelly patch.

Emerging back onto the surface, Boris looked carefully around for the guards. None were in sight, and they continued until they could see the hut they were renting. A cluster of guards stood outside, holding lanterns and torches. The students were being tied up roughly, and one of the females was roughly pawed by a soldier while his friends laughed. The other instructor, with one arm in a sling, was in no shape to offer much resistance.

In helpless silence, they watched the two dozen guards leading away their six captives. "Now what?" Boris fumed in near silence.

But when he turned to look over his shoulder, Natalya had vanished.

* * *

Inside the school, Ron Bars and Erris shared rounds of hugs with their friends, introducing Ellonwye to the others, and meeting Sere with thinly veiled suspicion. Their reunion was cut short, however, when a messenger ran inside.

"Lady Jezebel," he panted, slowly slipping out of his were form, "there's a small army moving this direction. At least six hundred men strong." The poor messenger leaned heavily against the wall as he fought to control his breathing.

Sere looked slightly grim, and he checked his pistols. "Well, it certainly sounds like it's time for a little action." He grinned and started to stride for the stairs up to the battlements.

Ellonwye sniffed in dismissal, stopping the captain. "What skill could you possibly need to use such a tiny weapon?" She patted the ashwood longbow she held. "A true weapon requires training to use properly."

He smirked, tapping the hilt of his rapier, where it hung behind one pistol. "Any time you feel like a test of skill, old woman, I'll welcome a short bout of exercise." She started to bristle, and Rupert stepped in between them.

"Enough, both of you!" He glared impartially around until the two backed down. "We have an army marching for the gates, and whether you like it or not, we have to depend on each other for our lives soon."

The room was silent for a few moments, until Garou snapped his fingers. "Hold on, I almost forgot something." Everyone else shared confused glances, until the druid stumbled back in, holding a massive hammer. "I bought this from the Sisterhood," he grunted as he handed it to Larzuk. Everyone admired the weapon, seemingly carved from a block of solid amethyst. "Apparently, Griswold had brought it there, and left it after we killed Andariel."

Larzuk swung the giant hammer to test the balance, and nodded in satisfaction. "This is a fine weapon indeed." He then hesitated. "I don't suppose you have any armor large enough to fit me?"

Sharing gallows humor, the warriors quickly prepared for the coming battle.

* * *

"Open the gate!" The soldier waved a gloved hand at the wall above, and Natalya surreptitiously watched him start cranking the gates. The soldiers hadn't even noticed that three of their six prisoners had vanished along the way, or that one of them had been replaced. The ropes around her wrists only appeared tied; they could be slipped out of at any moment. She gave a reassuring wink to a nervous student.

The gate slowly clattered up, and they were roughly shoved into the compound. Here, in their stronghold, fewer soldiers accompanied them towards the central building. Inside, the leader of the soldiers marched them up to a desk. The soldier behind it was going soft, from the large belly barely held in by his belt. "Six captured renegades from Viz-Jun, sir," the soldier saluted smartly.

Behind the desk, the fat man narrowed his eyes. "Six, did you say? Isn't that more like how many bottles of wine you had this evening?" The soldier gaped, as his superior pointed angrily at Natalya and the other two. "Or did you forget how to count while you were out on patrol?"

Soldiers suddenly straightened, realizing that half their prisoners had vanished under their very noses. Rising angrily from his desk, the fat captain waddled over to the instructor, his arms tied in place around his sling. "Where are the others?" After receiving only silence in return, the captain balled up a fist and swung. The blow obviously cracked something, and it was harsh enough to lift him off his feet, to crash, dazed, on the ground.

"Your plan will never work," Natalya said quietly. She was nervous, but it was a calculated risk talking. "You can never hope to hold all of the Viz-Jaq'taar here." Anything to keep his attention off the other student. There hadn't been enough time to spirit him out from the guard's notice before they came within sight of the stronghold.

Red with fury, he turned and waddled over to her. "Talk, woman, or you'll get a real taste of what Hell is like."

She scoffed openly at him. "Been there, got the trinkets." He swung at her, and even trying to roll with the blow, it lifted her clear off her feet. She lay dazed for a moment, until two soldiers dragged her to her feet again. Shaking her head, she spit out blood, and part of a tooth. Not until it landed did she realize she had just spit on the captain. The next half-dozen strikes sent her into unconsciousness.

In darkness, Natalya awoke. From the feel of the stone under her, they had put her in the cells, and she smiled painfully. Everything was going according to plan, or close enough to work. She could feel bruises on other parts of her body, and it was obvious they had searched her before throwing her in the cell.

She arose, and started doing stretching exercises, testing her limits and her injuries. Then, carefully, she untangled the three lockpicks from her hair. Pacing the confines of her cell, she listened to the activity. The door was welded together from steel bars, with a thin opening at the bottom to push in the food tray, and there wasn't much to see in the hallway. One wall shivered slightly, and she pressed her cheek against it. Sure enough, the tapping was regular, and in the assassin code.

With a feral grin, she waited for the message to stop, then tapped back. They communicated for a moment, almost silent, until they heard the guards coming down the hallway. Soon, the faint lamplight came spilling around, and the trio of guards trooped past them, glancing into each cell at the prisoners. Opposite from her was the other instructor, holding his broken arm very carefully.

In silence, they watched the guards and their light vanish around the curved corridor. Then, as the nearby prisoners all moved towards the door, they began serious plans. The soft tapping of fingers against steel was far too quiet to alert the guards.

* * *

Outside the walls of the fort, the army from the Zakarum Church was encamped. Their single catapult had been destroyed before the horses had even finished moving it into place, by a trio of Vizjerei calling down meteors. For the moment, however, the common soldiers were left alone.

Under a white flag of truce, the leaders of each side met just outside the walls. "Hello Benny," Rupert said quietly. "It's been quite a while."

The older paladin snorted, and gamely shook hands with him. "Rupert. I was told we should expect to meet here." He looked at the seven warriors. "Look, I'd rather not have to go through with this battle if we can avoid it. Surrender."

Jezebel shook her head. "Turn ourselves over to the Council? Tyrael warned all of us, personally, about the danger that would bring." As he opened his mouth again, she held up a hand. "We have been warned by Tyrael himself, and if you truly follow the angel's plans, you will forsake this foolishness!"

Dreadful silence reigned. "So be it." With a whirl of his cape, Benny turned back for his lines, his bodyguards following him. Watching him for a moment, they turned to file back inside the walls.

Inside the gates, Ellonwye watched the paladin cross into safety on his own side. "Well, what did he have to say?"

Erris growled. "That bastard thinks we're going to just surrender and go to our slaughter, despite being warned by Tyrael." She shook her head angrily, and stalked for an inner room of the fort. "Time to prepare for war."

Tharos looked at the sun, and chuckled. "I doubt they'll attack tonight. There's not enough light left for them." But despite this, everyone prepared. Despite their apprehension, everyone managed to sleep through the cold night.

Before the sun had finished rising the next morning, the battle had begun.

* * *

Nightmare drifted through the jungle. Even under a bright, noon-day sun, he traveled surrounded by an aura of darkness. Jungle animals cowered in their dens, or fled from him in fear, and he gloried in the sensations.

The sun crawled across the sky, and he continued drifting along, ethereal as the wind. When night rolled around, he could sense the city of Kurast somewhere ahead of him. The humans had rebuilt it amazingly quickly in the few years since the Prime Evils had been defeated.

He stopped in the jungle, lights of the city just barely visible through the leaves and reflecting off puddles of murky water. Somewhere, deep in his mind, he retained his memories - living in Kurast, joyfully joining the Council as they fell under Mephisto's spell. He had fought valiantly for the side of evil, striking down many of the paladins and magicians that had fought back.

Now was his chance for revenge, to take back the glory that had been stolen from him. But his task here would be very delicate. His Lord trusted him to do the job - and if he failed, he would face an eternity of being tortured, in the worst ways Hell knew.

But he refused to dwell on the thoughts of failure. They had never gotten him anywhere during his human life, and they would not help now. He drifted through the city, and in every house people shifted in their sleep, fears rising from their subconscious to haunt them. He hissed in glee, gliding towards the center of the city.

Guards lined the rebuilt walkway into Travincal, and all of them shuddered, gripping their weapons closer and gazing, wide-eyed, into the darkness that surrounded them. But those hapless humans were not his target, and Nightmare continued into the center of the city. The temple shone brightly, lit by great flames and magical lights, reflecting off the gold and jeweled decorations. Next to it, he floated up the stairs, into the large manor, wandering through the building, slipping through doors and walls.

Isorn stirred in his sleep, as Diablo's minion approached him. With a smoky hand, the demon caressed his face, drinking in the fears and insecurities like a fine wine. Reluctantly, he drew back, preparing for the mission his master had sent him there for.

Isorn stood on a blasted, muddy plain. Everything within sight was dead. Broken, charred trees lay at all angles, and dead bodies littered the area. Nothing stirred, not even carrion birds or insects. Suddenly, something moved across the plain, a hunched shape, crawling through the dead marsh.

He ran, heavy with armor, with the trampled ground dragging at his feet. Try as he might, he could not go faster, and he struggled for a long time, drawing closer by inches. Finally, he stood over the figure. The woman had been badly wounded in the battle - one leg was missing completely. But when he tried to offer her support, she turned on him. Bloody teeth snapped at his hand, and she drew back.

Nothing he could do would stop her crazed attacks, but she soon slowed from the blood loss, falling into the mud, still breathing but too weak to move. Carefully, Isorn pried her fingers apart, to see what she guarded so jealously. The shard of Worldstone, bright red and covered with her blood, pulsed madly as he lifted it, and he somehow knew it was the last piece left. The world had died, piece by piece, as the magical stone was destroyed, shattered. Where the corrupted shards had been ground to dust, now there was nothing but a great swamp, filled with the undead.

In fury and sadness, he roared to the sky, casting the shard of Worldstone away from him. It flew into the air, coming down to crash against the shield of a fallen soldier. Tiny sparkles of red filled the air, and Isorn felt the wave of energy as the last piece was crushed. Blackness started to devour his vision, and his chest went heavy, as though the air was turning to water in his lungs.

With a shout, he fell out of bed, awakening from his dark dream. One of the servants came running in, bedshirt in disarray. "Sir! What's the matter?"

Irritably, Isorn waved him away. "It was just a bad dream, damnit. Just a nightmare." He arose, stretching, and opened the shutters to his room. To the east, the sun was just starting to brighten, heralding the coming dawn. "Just a dream."

He remembered the last time he had been privy to such an intense dream, when the dream had warned him of the coming of Mephisto's dark magics. But he had not listened then, falling under the spell, slaughtering his family and friends when the madness took him.

Little more than a shadow on the wall, Nightmare shivered with glee. This was only the first of the Council members he would visit. His master wanted them cautious, waiting for his arrival. He was so very anxious to please his Lord.

* * *

When the first sliver of sunlight peeked over the mountains, the soldiers of Zakarum had attacked. The fort was almost overrun, but for a lucky miracle. Sere had awoken early, unable to sleep, and started pacing the battlements, when the first siege ladder clattered against the side of the wall. Awakened by the booms of his pistols, the mages and their defenders rushed into the battle.

Larzuk and Ron Bars led the charge, as the attacking army gained a foothold on the walls. Swinging his warhammer, the blacksmith cast one soldier clear of the walls, flying away to crash onto his companions. Backed by a dozen pikemen, and the deadly aim of Erris and Ellonwye, the Zakarum soldiers were thrown off the walls, dead or dying. Within minutes, the ladders had been pushed away from the walls, splintering as they hit the ground with the weight of a dozen armored men.

Sere wiped blood from his forehead, and waved his rapier at the army milling around outside. "Bastards tried a sneak attack right at dawn," he panted. A rain of arrows clattered against the stone wall behind him, and the captain snatched up a fallen shield. "What are our chances?"

Rupert arrived then, surveying the bulk of the army. "They got reinforcements last night," he muttered unhappily. "There's at least two thousand of them. We've got a little under two hundred mercenaries, a hundred mages, and the ten of us."

On another section of the wall, Garou's kin were throwing tornados away from the wall, into the smaller bulk of the army. Foot soldiers were yanked off the ground, weapons and armor spinning away as they were cast into the air, falling back to earth to crack apart like nuts. Downstairs, inside the main gate, Tharos and the other Rathman priests were strengthening their golems, preparing in case the gate was breached.

"How much longer can we hold out?" he called over the din to Jezebel. She shrugged, and he glared out at the army.

The battle raged all day. Walls of fire leapt up to stop a battering ram, only to be defeated by paladin powers. This in turn was defeated by an iron golem launching itself from the battlements to crack the ram in half, before the golem was battered to pieces. Waves of arrows were turned aside with telekinesis, only to prove a distraction as another dozen ladders were thrown up against the wall. Kenny died there, jumping over the wall to ride down the ladder, crushing wood and flesh on his ride to the bottom.

Nightfall was a relief to both sides. The Zakarum retreated to lick their wounds, and the mages stopped to post better sentries. The heroes met in the main room, all of them grim and bearing wounds from the battle. Oksana sighed, gratefully removing the burden of armor as she sank into a chair. "This might be the wrong time to mention it," she said quietly, "but I could get us out of here."

Jezebel looked shocked. "You can get everyone out of here?"

"No. Just us." She gestured at her friends. "The ten of us. Maybe tomorrow, if the night is as dark and clouded as it is today."

Rupert sighed. "I don't think we can do that. Griez has less than a hundred men left, and if we leave, we have to take the Worldstone with us, to prevent the Church from gaining control." He rested his head on the table, and Larzuk patted his back.

"Is there something else we can do, besides sit here for another two days until the army comes crashing inside?" Ron grimaced, waving a fist in helpless fury. "I don't want to sit around here, feeling like a cornered rat!"

Everyone was silent, listening to the quiet crackle of torches. "I could challenge him to single combat," Rupert finally said.

Tharos looked up, his eyes brightening. "Challenge Benny? Sure, have Ron or Larzuk take him in single combat, and we'd be out of this mess!"

"No, me." Rupert was very firm, and obviously unhappy with the thought. "If two paladins are in strong disagreement about a course of action, they face each other in unarmed, single combat. Whoever is in the right will win. Trust me, I've seen fights go completely against the odds."

"Why didn't you mention this earlier?" Jezebel said angrily. "We could have avoided all of this fighting, all of this pointless death!"

"You do not think he will fight fairly, do you?" Ellonwye spoke quietly, warming her hands next to the fireplace. "I watched his tactics today. He is a man who believes that everything he does is right, because he is blessed by the gods." She smiled grimly as Rupert reluctantly nodded.

Sere watched the exchange silently, cleaning out his pistols. "If he cheats, he's a dead man," he said. "I may not be privy to the talk of angels, but I've always played fair my whole life. I hate cheaters." He scowled, reloading the pistols and dropping them back into his holsters.

Garou sighed. "Rupert, do you think you can defeat him?"

He sat for several moments in silence, staring into the fire and brooding. "If he fights fairly, then yes. But he's not going to worry about bending the rules of fair combat if he thinks he can win."

The druid rose. "Fine. Tomorrow morning, we wave a flag of truce from the battlements, and see if he takes the offer."

Larzuk shook his head. "Are you sure that's such a bright idea?"

"What choice have we?" Jezebel's voice, tired and empty of hope, mirrored the expressions of everyone else.

Nodding, Rupert rose from his chair. "Sometimes, there are no good choices. Only bad ones and worse ones. I'm going to bed." He left the room slowly, with Larzuk following. One by one, everyone else broke off for a sleepless, fretful night.

* * *

Boris gathered up the other four students, and they followed him. Down in the sewers were several hidden rooms, places where they could hide until Natalya could find them again. He had listened incredulously to the students, telling how she had spirited them right out from under the noses of the guards.

Safe in their new lair, he left the students to clear away the insects and some of the grime. He had to go back up into the bazaar during the day. He certainly wasn't happy about it, but there wasn't much choice.

At mid-morning, even with the coming winter, the humid air was brutally oppressive. Boris couldn't remember the last time it had been this hot during this time of the year, but he bravely squared his shoulders and vanished into the crowd. It wasn't as easy to disappear into a crowd instead of shadows, but the principal was the same - or so he'd been told. After he had graduated training, Boris hadn't used his psychic powers much. He had been too valuable as a strategist and a trap teacher.

Noon had come and past before he collected everything he needed from the merchants. The sack on his back was full and heavy, clanking softly as he walked. The bazaar was too crowded now to risk trying to enter the sewers again, so he was forced to detour. Luckily, none of the patrolling guardsmen seemed to recognize him.

He was at the entrance to the sewer, about to descend, when someone shouted, "Hey, you! Stop right there!" Suddenly panicked, Boris threw his sack down the stairs, turning around and reaching for his hidden weapons. A small figure, a child, crashed into his leg and kept going. Three guards, waving their swords, chased after the kid, racing past the assassin without a glance.

Thinking he was out of danger, Boris sprinted down the steps. "Wait, wasn't that the assassin that just ran down there?" Cursing, he picked up the sack as a new group of guards came trampling down the stone stairs. The first one stumbled into the darkness, and Boris snapped his neck, casting the dead body back at his comrades. The sudden shock and confusion left them scrambling away from the entrance, calling for torches and more guards.

He fled into the darkness, his feet silent as he ran, leaping over streams of fouled water and piles of trash. When he reached the hideout, everything was silent and still. The students looked up fearfully when he stepped inside, and he couldn't smile at them. "Better get prepared," he said quietly. "We just might have company coming."

* * *

When dawn arose, Rupert stood outside the main gates, holding a pike with a white shirt tied around the end. The Zakarum soldiers shifted eagerly, but waited on the attack until their leader could decide what to do. Finally, Benny came marching out from his lines, followed by a pair of junior paladins. "Are you here to discuss the terms of surrender?"

With a deep breath, Rupert squeezed the charm that Jezebel had handed him. "Benny, due to your actions here, I challenge you to single combat under the judgement of Tyrael and the angels of Heaven!" His voice boomed out across the field, and several soldiers dropped their weapons in shock. "Do you accept the challenge of unarmed combat?"

The older paladin narrowed his eyes, staring at Rupert angrily. "You stupid lad," he growled, "do you have any idea what you're doing?" After a moment of silence, he whirled away, muttering something to the two junior paladins behind him. As they ran back for the lines of soldiers, Benny started undoing his armor. "It's going to be a pleasure beating you, lad."

Rupert leaned the pike against the wall, and they faced off in the open, trampled field before the main gates. Benny charged in, fists flailing wildly. Trying to dodge, Rupert slipped on the mud, sliding out of reach narrowly. He leaped back onto his feet, balling up his fists and waiting cautiously. From the walls above, Sere shouted, "Knock him on his ass, Rupert!"

As if that was a cue, shouted words of encouragement came from both sides, rolling over the two paladins like a wave. Rupert jabbed a couple of times, feinting or getting blocked, and ducking from Benny's powerful haymakers. Then he dropped to one knee, smashing the younger paladin in the stomach. Rupert reeled away, fighting to get his breath while Benny charged him.

They went down with a flying tackle, but Rupert managed to toss the other paladin away, leaping back to his feet. Both of them were smeared with mud, and Benny looked furious at the state of his clothes. He charged again, but again Rupert ducked, this time tripping him. Benny went skidding through the mud on his face, leaping up with a roar.

They faced off again, trading punches with each other. Again, Rupert slipped in the mud after a few swings, tripping Benny as he went down. In a flash, he leaped on the older paladin's back, twisting his arm up behind him. "Yield!"

"Never!" Twisting, Benny managed to roll Rupert away and free his arm, giving him a sharp elbow to the ribs before they both scrambled to their feet, facing off across the mud. Shouts still echoed from both sides, eager and angry. Benny charged again, but this time Rupert was prepared for him. Ducking the swing, he grabbed Benny by the elbow, twisting it around. But Benny slipped in the mud, and a sharp crack echoed across the field as his elbow snapped backwards.

Crying out in pain, Benny fell heavily into the mud, jarring his now broken elbow even further. Rupert leaned heavily on his knees, panting with the exertion of the fight. "Do you yield?" he shouted, trying to get through to Benny. Painfully, he nodded, then finally cried out an affirmative. "Then take your army and leave!"

Triumphant and sore, Rupert turned back towards the walls as the two junior paladins ran forward to help their leader. But before Rupert had gone more than a dozen steps, he heard Benny shout "Now!" An arrow came flying from the lines, burying itself into his side. He fell into the mud, clutching futilely at the arrow in his side.

From the walls, Sere's pistols belched flame, and one of the paladins fell, his leg bleeding profusely. But from such a great distance, he missed Benny, staggering back to the protection of his soldiers. The army had already started to charge, and on the wall, the heroes prepared themselves.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Nightmare drifted through the jungle. Even under a bright, noon-day sun, he traveled surrounded by an aura of darkness. Jungle animals cowered in their dens, or fled from him in fear, and he gloried in the sensations.

The sun crawled across the sky, and he continued drifting along, ethereal as the wind. When night rolled around, he could sense the city of Kurast somewhere ahead of him. The humans had rebuilt it amazingly quickly in the few years since the Prime Evils had been defeated.

He stopped in the jungle, lights of the city just barely visible through the leaves and reflecting off puddles of murky water. Somewhere, deep in his mind, he retained his memories - living in Kurast, joyfully joining the Council as they fell under Mephisto's spell. He had fought valiantly for the side of evil, striking down many of the paladins and magicians that had fought back.

Now was his chance for revenge, to take back the glory that had been stolen from him. But his task here would be very delicate. His Lord trusted him to do the job - and if he failed, he would face an eternity of being tortured, in the worst ways Hell knew.

But he refused to dwell on the thoughts of failure. They had never gotten him anywhere during his human life, and they would not help now. He drifted through the city, and in every house people shifted in their sleep, fears rising from their subconscious to haunt them. He hissed in glee, gliding towards the center of the city.

Guards lined the rebuilt walkway into Travincal, and all of them shuddered, gripping their weapons closer and gazing, wide-eyed, into the darkness that surrounded them. But those hapless humans were not his target, and Nightmare continued into the center of the city. The temple shone brightly, lit by great flames and magical lights, reflecting off the gold and jeweled decorations. Next to it, he floated up the stairs, into the large manor, wandering through the building, slipping through doors and walls.

Isorn stirred in his sleep, as Diablo's minion approached him. With a smoky hand, the demon caressed his face, drinking in the fears and insecurities like a fine wine. Reluctantly, he drew back, preparing for the mission his master had sent him there for.

_Isorn stood on a blasted, muddy plain. Everything within sight was dead. Broken, charred trees lay at all angles, and dead bodies littered the area. Nothing stirred, not even carrion birds or insects. Suddenly, something moved across the plain, a hunched shape, crawling through the dead marsh._

_He ran, heavy with armor, with the trampled ground dragging at his feet. Try as he might, he could not go faster, and he struggled for a long time, drawing closer by inches. Finally, he stood over the figure. The woman had been badly wounded in the battle - one leg was missing completely. But when he tried to offer her support, she turned on him. Bloody teeth snapped at his hand, and she drew back._

_Nothing he could do would stop her crazed attacks, but she soon slowed from the blood loss, falling into the mud, still breathing but too weak to move. Carefully, Isorn pried her fingers apart, to see what she guarded so jealously. The shard of Worldstone, bright red and covered with her blood, pulsed madly as he lifted it, and he somehow knew it was the last piece left. The world had died, piece by piece, as the magical stone was destroyed, shattered. Where the corrupted shards had been ground to dust, now there was nothing but a great swamp, filled with the undead._

_In fury and sadness, he roared to the sky, casting the shard of Worldstone away from him. It flew into the air, coming down to crash against the shield of a fallen soldier. Tiny sparkles of red filled the air, and Isorn felt the wave of energy as the last piece was crushed. Blackness started to devour his vision, and his chest went heavy, as though the air was turning to water in his lungs._

With a shout, he fell out of bed, awakening from his dark dream. One of the servants came running in, bedshirt in disarray. "Sir! What's the matter?"

Irritably, Isorn waved him away. "It was just a bad dream, damnit. Just a nightmare." He arose, stretching, and opened the shutters to his room. To the east, the sun was just starting to brighten, heralding the coming dawn. "Just a dream."

He remembered the last time he had been privy to such an intense dream, when the dream had warned him of the coming of Mephisto's dark magics. But he had not listened then, falling under the spell, slaughtering his family and friends when the madness took him.

Little more than a shadow on the wall, Nightmare shivered with glee. This was only the first of the Council members he would visit. His master wanted them cautious, waiting for his arrival. He was so very anxious to please his Lord.

* * *

When the first sliver of sunlight peeked over the mountains, the soldiers of Zakarum had attacked. The fort was almost overrun, but for a lucky miracle. Sere had awoken early, unable to sleep, and started pacing the battlements, when the first siege ladder clattered against the side of the wall. Awakened by the booms of his pistols, the mages and their defenders rushed into the battle.

Larzuk and Ron Bars led the charge, as the attacking army gained a foothold on the walls. Swinging his warhammer, the blacksmith cast one soldier clear of the walls, flying away to crash onto his companions. Backed by a dozen pikemen, and the deadly aim of Erris and Ellonwye, the Zakarum soldiers were thrown off the walls, dead or dying. Within minutes, the ladders had been pushed away from the walls, splintering as they hit the ground with the weight of a dozen armored men.

Sere wiped blood from his forehead, and waved his rapier at the army milling around outside. "Bastards tried a sneak attack right at dawn," he panted. A rain of arrows clattered against the stone wall behind him, and the captain snatched up a fallen shield. "What are our chances?"

Rupert arrived then, surveying the bulk of the army. "They got reinforcements last night," he muttered unhappily. "There's at least two thousand of them. We've got a little under two hundred mercenaries, a hundred mages, and the ten of us."

On another section of the wall, Garou's kin were throwing tornados away from the wall, into the smaller bulk of the army. Foot soldiers were yanked off the ground, weapons and armor spinning away as they were cast into the air, falling back to earth to crack apart like nuts. Downstairs, inside the main gate, Tharos and the other Rathman priests were strengthening their golems, preparing in case the gate was breached.

"How much longer can we hold out?" he called over the din to Jezebel. She shrugged, and he glared out at the army.

The battle raged all day. Walls of fire leapt up to stop a battering ram, only to be defeated by paladin powers. This in turn was defeated by an iron golem launching itself from the battlements to crack the ram in half, before the golem was battered to pieces. Waves of arrows were turned aside with telekinesis, only to prove a distraction as another dozen ladders were thrown up against the wall. Kenny died there, jumping over the wall to ride down the ladder, crushing wood and flesh on his ride to the bottom.

Nightfall was a relief to both sides. The Zakarum retreated to lick their wounds, and the mages stopped to post better sentries. The heroes met in the main room, all of them grim and bearing wounds from the battle. Oksana sighed, gratefully removing the burden of armor as she sank into a chair. "This might be the wrong time to mention it," she said quietly, "but I could get us out of here."

Jezebel looked shocked. "You can get everyone out of here?"

"No. Just us." She gestured at her friends. "The ten of us. Maybe tomorrow, if the night is as dark and clouded as it is today."

Rupert sighed. "I don't think we can do that. Griez has less than a hundred men left, and if we leave, we have to take the Worldstone with us, to prevent the Church from gaining control." He rested his head on the table, and Larzuk patted his back.

"Is there something else we can do, besides sit here for another two days until the army comes crashing inside?" Ron grimaced, waving a fist in helpless fury. "I don't want to sit around here, feeling like a cornered rat!"

Everyone was silent, listening to the quiet crackle of torches. "I could challenge him to single combat," Rupert finally said.

Tharos looked up, his eyes brightening. "Challenge Benny? Sure, have Ron or Larzuk take him in single combat, and we'd be out of this mess!"

"No, me." Rupert was very firm, and obviously unhappy with the thought. "If two paladins are in strong disagreement about a course of action, they face each other in unarmed, single combat. Whoever is in the right will win. Trust me, I've seen fights go completely against the odds."

"Why didn't you mention this earlier?" Jezebel said angrily. "We could have avoided all of this fighting, all of this pointless death!"

"You do not think he will fight fairly, do you?" Ellonwye spoke quietly, warming her hands next to the fireplace. "I watched his tactics today. He is a man who believes that everything he does is right, because he is blessed by the gods." She smiled grimly as Rupert reluctantly nodded.

Sere watched the exchange silently, cleaning out his pistols. "If he cheats, he's a dead man," he said. "I may not be privy to the talk of angels, but I've always played fair my whole life. I hate cheaters." He scowled, reloading the pistols and dropping them back into his holsters.

Garou sighed. "Rupert, do you think you can defeat him?"

He sat for several moments in silence, staring into the fire and brooding. "If he fights fairly, then yes. But he's not going to worry about bending the rules of fair combat if he thinks he can win."

The druid rose. "Fine. Tomorrow morning, we wave a flag of truce from the battlements, and see if he takes the offer."

Larzuk shook his head. "Are you sure that's such a bright idea?"

"What choice have we?" Jezebel's voice, tired and empty of hope, mirrored the expressions of everyone else.

Nodding, Rupert rose from his chair. "Sometimes, there are no good choices. Only bad ones and worse ones. I'm going to bed." He left the room slowly, with Larzuk following. One by one, everyone else broke off for a sleepless, fretful night.

* * *

Boris gathered up the other four students, and they followed him. Down in the sewers were several hidden rooms, places where they could hide until Natalya could find them again. He had listened incredulously to the students, telling how she had spirited them right out from under the noses of the guards.

Safe in their new lair, he left the students to clear away the insects and some of the grime. He had to go back up into the bazaar during the day. He certainly wasn't happy about it, but there wasn't much choice.

At mid-morning, even with the coming winter, the humid air was brutally oppressive. Boris couldn't remember the last time it had been this hot during this time of the year, but he bravely squared his shoulders and vanished into the crowd. It wasn't as easy to disappear into a crowd instead of shadows, but the principal was the same - or so he'd been told. After he had graduated training, Boris hadn't used his psychic powers much. He had been too valuable as a strategist and a trap teacher.

Noon had come and past before he collected everything he needed from the merchants. The sack on his back was full and heavy, clanking softly as he walked. The bazaar was too crowded now to risk trying to enter the sewers again, so he was forced to detour. Luckily, none of the patrolling guardsmen seemed to recognize him.

He was at the entrance to the sewer, about to descend, when someone shouted, "Hey, you! Stop right there!" Suddenly panicked, Boris threw his sack down the stairs, turning around and reaching for his hidden weapons. A small figure, a child, crashed into his leg and kept going. Three guards, waving their swords, chased after the kid, racing past the assassin without a glance.

Thinking he was out of danger, Boris sprinted down the steps. "Wait, wasn't that the assassin that just ran down there?" Cursing, he picked up the sack as a new group of guards came trampling down the stone stairs. The first one stumbled into the darkness, and Boris snapped his neck, casting the dead body back at his comrades. The sudden shock and confusion left them scrambling away from the entrance, calling for torches and more guards.

He fled into the darkness, his feet silent as he ran, leaping over streams of fouled water and piles of trash. When he reached the hideout, everything was silent and still. The students looked up fearfully when he stepped inside, and he couldn't smile at them. "Better get prepared," he said quietly. "We just might have company coming."

* * *

When dawn arose, Rupert stood outside the main gates, holding a pike with a white shirt tied around the end. The Zakarum soldiers shifted eagerly, but waited on the attack until their leader could decide what to do. Finally, Benny came marching out from his lines, followed by a pair of junior paladins. "Are you here to discuss the terms of surrender?"

With a deep breath, Rupert squeezed the charm that Jezebel had handed him. "Benny, due to your actions here, I challenge you to single combat under the judgement of Tyrael and the angels of Heaven!" His voice boomed out across the field, and several soldiers dropped their weapons in shock. "Do you accept the challenge of unarmed combat?"

The older paladin narrowed his eyes, staring at Rupert angrily. "You stupid lad," he growled, "do you have any idea what you're doing?" After a moment of silence, he whirled away, muttering something to the two junior paladins behind him. As they ran back for the lines of soldiers, Benny started undoing his armor. "It's going to be a pleasure beating you, lad."

Rupert leaned the pike against the wall, and they faced off in the open, trampled field before the main gates. Benny charged in, fists flailing wildly. Trying to dodge, Rupert slipped on the mud, sliding out of reach narrowly. He leaped back onto his feet, balling up his fists and waiting cautiously. From the walls above, Sere shouted, "Knock him on his ass, Rupert!"

As if that was a cue, shouted words of encouragement came from both sides, rolling over the two paladins like a wave. Rupert jabbed a couple of times, feinting or getting blocked, and ducking from Benny's powerful haymakers. Then he dropped to one knee, smashing the younger paladin in the stomach. Rupert reeled away, fighting to get his breath while Benny charged him.

They went down with a flying tackle, but Rupert managed to toss the other paladin away, leaping back to his feet. Both of them were smeared with mud, and Benny looked furious at the state of his clothes. He charged again, but again Rupert ducked, this time tripping him. Benny went skidding through the mud on his face, leaping up with a roar.

They faced off again, trading punches with each other. Again, Rupert slipped in the mud after a few swings, tripping Benny as he went down. In a flash, he leaped on the older paladin's back, twisting his arm up behind him. "Yield!"

"Never!" Twisting, Benny managed to roll Rupert away and free his arm, giving him a sharp elbow to the ribs before they both scrambled to their feet, facing off across the mud. Shouts still echoed from both sides, eager and angry. Benny charged again, but this time Rupert was prepared for him. Ducking the swing, he grabbed Benny by the elbow, twisting it around. But Benny slipped in the mud, and a sharp crack echoed across the field as his elbow snapped backwards.

Crying out in pain, Benny fell heavily into the mud, jarring his now broken elbow even further. Rupert leaned heavily on his knees, panting with the exertion of the fight. "Do you yield?" he shouted, trying to get through to Benny. Painfully, he nodded, then finally cried out an affirmative. "Then take your army and leave!"

Triumphant and sore, Rupert turned back towards the walls as the two junior paladins ran forward to help their leader. But before Rupert had gone more than a dozen steps, he heard Benny shout "Now!" An arrow came flying from the lines, burying itself into his side. He fell into the mud, clutching futilely at the arrow in his side.

From the walls, Sere's pistols belched flame, and one of the paladins fell, his leg bleeding profusely. But from such a great distance, he missed Benny, staggering back to the protection of his soldiers. The army had already started to charge, and on the wall, the heroes prepared themselves.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Tyrael stared at Gabriel wordlessly. "Are you serious?"

The other angel sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I'm afraid so. Rupert is dead somehow, and Belial's magic hangs thick over all of it."

"But how?" He paced back and forth in the study, hands gesturing madly as he thought and spoke. "All seven of them were still under the protection spells we gave them shortly before they faced Andariel. Even my destruction of the Worldstone didn't have an effect on it." He stopped, leaning against the desk where Gabriel sat. "How did he do it?"

"I don't know." He bit off every word, sounding more angry with every one. "Belial's power isn't brute strength, and those spells should have been enough to keep even him out of it. I mean, there's not much misdirection with an arrow to the kidney!" His fingers drummed irritably on the desktop. "But not only is he dead, I don't even know where his body is."

Tyrael stilled, even his wings statue-esque. "You mean it's not on the battlefield?"

"I don't know, curse it all! It could be lying there after the battle, or Belial could have taken it somewhere." He slammed a fist into the wood, watching the books jump. "I simply don't know."

Gabriel watched him sink into a chair. "So what do we do now? And more importantly, did Belial realize the part that Rupert was supposed to play in thwarting Diablo?"

"I doubt that," he replied confidently. "Belial wants to see his brother fail almost as much as we do. I'm guessing it was just bad luck."

"So what do we do now?" Tyrael asked quietly.

"Pray?" He held up a hand defensively. "Alright, a joke in bad taste, I admit." He sighed, leaning back and closing his eyes again. "Still, I think it's about the only thing I haven't tried yet."

Shaking his head sadly, Tyrael closed the door behind him as he left Gabriel's study.

* * *

Natalya waited in the darkness, listening to the distant sounds of the guards' footsteps. There were two dozen of her fellow assassins, all of them with cell doors now unlocked, waiting for just the right moment. Soon, the light of their lantern came into view.

It perfectly illuminated the woman in the cell next to Natalya. She had lain across the stone floor, adjusting her torn clothing to try and tempt the soldiers into entering her cell. It wouldn't have been the first time they had done it, either - but this time, all the cells were unlocked.

Sure enough, the lead soldier slowed, making lewd comments to his companions. After a moment of debate, the third man took the key ring from his belt and unlocked her door. They were so intent on their prisoner, expecting entertainment, that they missed the identical creaking of a dozen other cell doors opening. While they stood over her, arguing over who got to go first, Natalya settled it by using her garrote.

The soldier, his head almost decapitated, slid to the ground as his blood sprayed over the other two. They screamed, struggling to pull out their weapons. But Natalya had also smuggled in a small knife, and the assassin on the floor plunged it into the first soldier's groin. He doubled over, hunched over his wound, fighting with her as she twisted the blade around.

Backed against the wall with his sword out, the last soldier looked ashen. "Look here, soldier. Lead us back to our weapons, and show us a way out of here, and I promise not to kill you."

He stared at her for several minutes, and finally threw down his blade. The other assassins tore strips from the dead men's shirts, tying his arms tightly behind his back. Gripping her knife tightly, the woman who had played bait rose and faced him. "Are you sure it's a good idea to let these monsters live, Natalya?"

She glanced at the other woman coldly as she tested the balance of one sword. "I said we wouldn't kill him, Sasha. I didn't say we wouldn't harm him." Through his gag, he tried to scream as she ran the knife across his cheek. "Now let's get moving before the next shift comes down here."

* * *

The army smashed through the front gate, plowing straight into the front line of golems. The iron and stone forced the soldiers back, most weapons bouncing harmlessly away. But the army kept coming, faster than spells and weapons could drive them away. Before long, they were controlling the gate. Griez and the last of his mercenaries had already fallen, and mages died by the handful as soldiers leapt over their dead companions, continuing the attack.

In a circle, the warriors continued their fight. In the center, the two amazons blasted away with arrows, while the others fought with weapons and spells. Sere panted, wiping blood from his cheek while his rapier stabbed through the break in armor. "We have to get out of here!"

Side by side, Ron Bars and Larzuk led the charge. Men literally went flying from the strength behind their strikes, and the blood flowing from a dozen wounds did not seem to slow them at all. They had just made it out of the building, with Tharos' golem guarding their rear, when it happened.

From behind a row of soldiers, the ballista bolt came flying. Behind it trailed three spiked chains, whipping through the air, slicing apart the soldiers as it shot for the heroes. Sere, Erris, Oksana, and Garou got back up as the others were caught in the chain, being dragged away into the bulk of the army. "Come on!" the captain shouted, grabbing Erris by her arm. "We have to get out of here, now!"

"But the others!" Garou tried to turn back for them, but Sere jabbed a pistol under his muzzle.

"You said they need all of you for the ceremony. We have to leave, now!" Their moment was interrupted by another group of soldiers charging up. Sere swung away, aiming the pistol and stopping one soldier with a bang.

Reaching the docks, they flung themselves into the ocean, swimming for where Sere's ship anchored offshore. Erris and Oksana were forced to shed their armor to avoid sinking, but they all reached the ship safely. As it sailed away, they looked back at the village. Parts of it were now being set on fire, and some of the transport ships were being launched by the soldiers. But the Smoking Trail moved like a ghost, slipping past them and away into the gulf.

* * *

The ballista bolt finally slammed into the stone wall inside the fort, smashing the others heavily against the wall. Ron Bars was the first one up, carefully pulling the barbed hooks from his skin. He stood guard while the others fought to painfully free themselves, his axes a whirling cloud of blood-spattering death.

When they had all been freed, it even looked as though they would be able to escape. That's when Benny strode back into view. His arm had been tied stiffly to his body, the elbow re-set. He raised his scepter, throwing holy energy at the heroes in an unending wave.

To their surprise, the energy weakened them. Arms sagged with fatigue, and their eyelids felt as though they were forged from lead. Eventually, they all succumbed, falling unconscious in the hallway, lying in pools of their own blood. Benny finally lowered his scepter, staring at them with fury in his eyes. "Chain them all up and throw them in the hold on one of the ships. Then start searching the field outside for Rupert."

* * *

Cowering in the darkness, the students looked at each other, listening to the sounds of soldiers searching the sewers. Boris worked by the light of the only candle, building his new contraption. Hours passed, marked only by the muffled thumps heard through the stone walls, and the dripping of water.

By the time Boris finished, his eyes were bloodshot, and staying open only with a struggle. Most of the students had already fallen into troubled sleep, touching each other and crying out from their bad dreams. He set aside the small device, and roughly woke two students. Arranging the watch, he fell asleep himself.

Some time the next day, Torture paused at the entrance to the sewer. His master had told him of the assassins hiding in the city, and he thought he could smell them, somewhere down in the foulness. But the passing of soldiers made it more difficult. He snarled, pointed teeth glistening in the shadow of his cloak. Torture strode the city, blending in as just another old man, checking each entrance to try and track his quarry.

When night fell, he was back at the first opening, disappearing down into darkness.

* * *

Night fell over the battlefield. Over a thousand dead were stretched across the ruined field, killed in all the many ways that humanity knew. The survivors of the Zakarum army were camped inside the fort, having dumped the last of the dead mages outside the walls, for the carrion animals to gnaw upon.

Rupert opened his eyes. Someone else's blood had dried across his face, and it flaked away as he blinked. His side was a great mass of numbness. He remembered breaking off the shaft, pulling out the arrowhead, while soldiers thundered past him. Then a great flash, and darkness enveloped him.

With great care, he rolled over, and a charred body exploded in a cloud of ashes. He coughed raggedly, feeling fresh burns on his own skin. He almost screamed in pain, but that would only draw enemy soldiers out to him. When his breathing had slowed, he started crawling. There was forest to the north of the village, perhaps a mile away. If he could reach there, perhaps he could find a temporary shelter until he could heal his wounds.

For what seemed like an eternity, he crawled across the battlefield, over the bodies of the fallen. Dogs and rats scattered at his approach, only to follow him for a short distance before returning to easier prey. Finally the bonefield fell away behind him, and he faced only a long distance of hills, to cross on his own power if he was able.

Weakly, Rupert pulled himself to his feet. His armor and scepter were lost, inside the fort now controlled by the Zakarum. They now held all of the Worldstone he had brought there. Guilt and shame whirling around in his skull, he stumbled along through the tall grass, picking himself up when he stepped in gopher holes or tripped over small bushes.

When he could see the line of the forest rising like a dark cloud, he sighed. He reached the trees, sagging against one, fighting to keep conscious. His paladin powers would not answer when he could not even focus. After taking several deep breaths, he started walking again. It would be difficult in the dark, but he had to find somewhere safe he could curl up and sleep for the night. It would take the army days to sort through the dead, so he should have a little time.

"There you are, Rupert," a voice slithered from the darkness. "I've been waiting all night for you." He slowly raised his eyes, taking in the demonic body to finally stare at the face, recognizable even wreathed in shadow.

"It is time we got moving, isn't it?" Belial asked with mock kindness.

* * *

Colin and Will stood in the meeting room. Sareal, Isorn, and the other members of the Kurast Council sat at their places around the table. Their report had been mostly a formality, with several hundred small pieces of Worldstone now under guard in the vault. More pieces had been lost though - shattered or thrown into the river when the triumphant army surged through the city of Viz-jun.

Isorn finally nodded as the Council members talked in quiet tones. "Thank you for your prompt report, faithful paladins. You and your men have earned a few days of rest."

Colin chuckled. "It is our duty, sir. Is there anything else the Council needs from us?"

Sareal shook his head. "It is time to adjourn for the day. Return to your men with our thanks, and may the Light keep you safe." The room suddenly turned into a bustle of noise and sound as the Council members and their servants fought free of the room into the early winter evening.

Isorn caught up to the two paladins before they had gone more than a block. "Colin, my old friend. I was hoping that perhaps you could come and visit for a while?"

The older paladin laughed. "Perhaps I can come by tonight. Assuming I can find it in my heart to forgive you for marrying my sister." He laughed, a twinkle in his eye.

"Don't you start playing the innocent with me, old man. You're the one who talked me into courting her," he retorted.

The two laughed loudly, drawing a few curious glances from other people about on the strangely balmy evening. "True, Isorn, but how else was I to punish such a wicked little sister than turning her over to you?" Colin dodged a playful punch, then suddenly grew serious. "We need to find some time to discuss more serious matters though."

"You've heard the rumors too, then." Isorn's voice was scarcely loud enough to be heard over the normal street noise. "That Rupert challenged Benny to single combat, and won."

He nodded gruffly. "Aye. This little runt," he gave Will a thump on the shoulder, "listens to the fireside chatter more than I do. If it's true, then it's important."

As they continued their path through the city, a spider suddenly scuttled away, through a crack, and vanished from sight.

* * *

"Never," Rupert said grimly, trying to reach for his paladin powers even through the pain and dizziness. But Belial's words stopped him cold.

"You're a zombie, Rupert. You died out there on this battlefield, and I animated you." The demon's eyes glinted in the darkness, blank and flat like a dead fish.

He shook his head, stopping suddenly as the world swam around him. His vision was starting to go dark around the edges, with sparkles of light chasing each other. "You are the lord of lies," he whispered. "Why should I believe anything you tell me?"

"Silly human," Belial sighed, bring his hand into view from behind his back. Rupert's weapons and armor dropped heavily onto the forest floor. "I only lie when it will do more damage than the truth. There is a pool, that way," he pointed off through the trees, "perhaps twenty paces away. I left candles on the edge of the pool. Look at yourself, and see that this time, I do not lie."

For several minutes, they stayed, their gazes locked across the midnight gloom of the forest. But Rupert's stare could not crack the quiet confidence of the demon, and he finally shuffled off through the darkness. The pool was there, fed by a small stream that wandered back towards the fort and the sea. Plain beeswax candles were there as well, placed firmly in the soil.

It took several minutes with his shaking hands, but he managed to light two of the candles. By their dim light, he stared into the still, dark waters, at his own reflection. His entire left side was covered in blood from the arrow wound. It still gaped open, and he winced at the sight of the dirt and leaves ground into it by his rough escape.

But what stopped him completely was his head. The right side of his head had been almost torn away. Something had split his hairline just in front of his ear, dragging the flesh away. Gingerly, Rupert took the torn flesh, feeling how it pulled free of his head, before squeezing his eyes closed and pressing it back into place.

"Now do you believe me?" Belial asked from the darkness behind him. "Unless you want to get even worse, I suggest you start eating."

He turned at that, looking at the demon suspiciously. He held a rabbit, still alive and kicking, but skinned alive, looking weak and piteous where it dangled from his hand. "Eat?"

"Zombies stay fresher when they eat live meat, Rupert." Belial dropped the rabbit into his arms, then turned and disappeared back into the trees. "But hurry. We have much to discuss before the dawn."

Rupert stared into the forest, his mind numb and emptied. The rabbit kicked again, and he looked down at it. With careful deliberation, he lowered his face and began to feed.

* * *

"Hard to port!" Sere shouted. The storm had come out of the north with surprising severity. Pieces of ice, a few as large as houses, drifted with the storm, bumping against the Smoking Trail as she cut through the waves. Triangular sails filled with wind, and the crew fought the storm as they tried to find shelter.

Erris and Garou were straining on ropes, fighting to hold the main sail steady. The ship jerked forward with a sudden gust of wind, and one of the other sailors went flying off his feet, crashing into the rail. But the heroes ignored it, wrestling against the powerful storm.

From the bow of the ship, one of the sailors tried to shout something, but his words were lost to the howling gale. Garou watched as he fought his way aft, gripping the rail, trying to reach Sere.

Then in front of them, a lighthouse appeared through the fog, as though a curtain had been pulled away. Erris leaped past him, trying to turn the mast, and the ship with it. But they were too late. With a sudden crash, the ship ran aground. Everyone was flung off their feet. Garou had a brief moment to wonder where they had landed, and whether everyone would be safe, before he struck his head.

* * *

Benny scowled at his five prisoners. His soldiers had searched them, removing everything before tying them up. They all seemed to accept their situation - imprisonment and nudity - with remarkable calm. "So, you're all the traitors to the Church I've been sent here for."

Ellonwye sniffed dismissively. "You are an overgrown bully, and nothing more."

He stared at her for a moment, then shrugged. "I do the work of the angels. Their power flows through me."

"If that were true, you would not have lost." She smirked at him.

In a sudden rage, Benny turned, drawing his scepter from his belt and striking her across the face. She went flying backwards, her jaw splintering from the strike. Even the other guards jumped in fear at the fury on his face. "Be quiet, hag!" he snarled. "You are not required by my leaders. The only thing keeping you alive right now is my suffrage. Insult me again, and you'll be hanging from the battlements for the crows!"

He stalked out of the room, gesturing abruptly for the guards to follow him. Everyone was left alone in the darkness for a moment. Then, with a sudden clank, a pair of manacles struck the floor. "Ok, who just got free?" Larzuk's voice echoed in the small storeroom.

Tharos chuckled as he released Jezebel by touch. "I've been married to Oksana for a couple of years. I picked up a few tricks." She summoned a weak globe of magelight while he freed the others, and they turned to check on Ellonwye. Mercifully, she was unconscious.

While the others tried to gently re-set the fractured bone, Ron Bars searched the room, looking for anything they could use to heal her or arm themselves. Eventually, he settled on tearing apart an empty barrel, using the wooden slats as weak clubs. "Now's the question - how do we get out of here?"

Tharos sighed, leaning back against the wall. "I know this will sound strange, but right here might be a good place to stay for a little while. I can get us out of these at any time, and if we disappear closer to a big city, we'll have a better chance to stay hidden while on the run."

"And find independent transport to Kurast," Jezebel said glumly. "We've got to figure out how to stop the Council from listening to this Belial-hatched plan."

Everyone stared at each other in silence for a few moments, then Ron put his weapons back unhappily. Tharos replaced their bonds, and they sat back in silence and darkness, waiting for their captor's next move.

* * *

Elfred stepped off the boat onto the docks of Kurast. It had been nearly a year since he left this city, and now he returned, almost complete with the task he had been sent to accomplish. He stumbled along through the city, dark thoughts whirling through his mind. The shard had long since come to dominate his every thought, and through him it hungered.

Night fell as he was walking, and soon his feet led him into a section of slums. Few people were about here, except for a gang of ruffians. They spotted him easily, slowly tottering along, wearing clothes that had been reduced to grimy rags. Brandishing their weapons, the gang strode over confidently. "Old man, you owe us a toll for crossing our territory."

He said nothing, slowing his pace and snarling wordlessly. "Let's see what's in the pack," another one said, reaching for the tattered leather bag Elfred clutched tightly to his chest. In response, the crazed man lunged forward, grabbing the thief around the shoulders. As he screamed, Elfred sank his teeth into the boy's neck, rending flesh and bathing in the sudden fountain of blood.

The other gang members shouted in outrage, attacking him with their knives and clubs. But the weapons seemed to do little damage to him. When the first youth died, Elfred dropped the corpse, leaping on another and bearing him to the ground.

By this time, the noise and shouting had drawn the attention of the city guard. A patrol came running, brandishing magical weapons and carrying lanterns. But even their weapons seemed to do little more than enrage the possessed man, causing him to abandon his victim to strike out at them, knocking weapons away and attacking blindly with his fists.

Sareal appeared on the scene then, conjuring balls of fire and throwing them at Elfred, driving him away from the soldiers. To their surprise, he caught fire quickly, turning to ash and blackened bones in less than a minute. The priest slowly knelt, picking up the leather bag he had been guarding so jealously.

As the frightened guards watched, he opened the bag and drew out the corrupted shard of Worldstone. Cowering in fear, they watched uncomprehendingly as Sareal gazed lovingly at the piece of rock. Then he suddenly shoved it into his pocket. "Take these bodies away, and have them burned. If any of you were bitten by him, go to a temple quickly and have a paladin bless you."

He dashed off into the night, racing through the city to the Travincal temple. The moon high above was well past midnight when he arrived, breathing heavily and stumbling. But he shoved irritably past the guards, descending through the temple until he stood before the vault door. "Open the vault already," he railed at the guards, fighting the urge to shove a hand into his pocket and caress the stone.

Inside, he drew out his special key and stepped into the room with the other shards. The one in his pocket strained towards the others, as though it could simply jump up and reunite itself. With careful ceremony, Sareal picked up the final glass dome, placing the shard onto the cloth and lowering it.

For several moments, he stood there, warring between the urge to flee the room or take out the shard and wallow in its power. Finally though, Sareal turned away, shuddering. When the door closed, he could again feel the weariness in his bones. Nightmares had plagued him these last few nights, until he despaired of getting any sleep at all.

"Tonight, they were not so bad," he muttered to himself, climbing the stairs slowly to return to his opulent quarters. "They sent me on a walk, where I found the last shard. I wonder," he whispered as he fumbled the key to his chambers, "which one of the company was turned into that revenant?"

As he pushed open the door, Wulfe jumped to his feet, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Eminence? Where did you go at such an hour?"

With a wide, contented smile on his face, Sareal waved the question away, standing passively while his servant undressed him. "I went for a walk to clear my mind. And now, we have the last shard!" He crawled into his bed, not even noticing as the fur blankets were pulled up around his shoulders.

Invisible against the wall, Nightmare was pleased. His master had told him that all the shards must be in place before they could move. Soon, very soon, his revenge would be at hand.

* * *

Three nights later, Rupert and Belial stood at the edge of the Aranoch desert. The demon had been right, he lamented - no human could walk for three days, without stopping for food, drink, or rest. He had eaten another rabbit yesterday, after the demon forced it upon him, but he would have liked nothing better than to curl up and wither away.

"We'll be circling around the northern edge of the desert," Belial said softly, as they stared across the moonlit widths of sand. "My ship will be waiting for us there."

"Your ship?" Rupert asked slowly. He shook his head slowly, before again striding forth along the low cliffs that ringed the edge of the desert. "Just what do you mean by your ship? And why are we going to Kurast, anyway?"

With a suffering sigh, Belial ambled along behind him, the demon's massive height carrying him easily. "I told you. Baal is trying to find a way to return Diablo to Hell, and then destroy humanity once and for all."

The human scowled up. "I would think you'd be happy about that."

"Happy?" He whirled around, anger glinting in his red eyes. "With Diablo gone, I am the third ranking power in Hell. Only Baal and Mephisto have more power than I, and neither of them wish to cross me without good reason. I am the one who has masterminded every successful scheme against the forces of Heaven. Do you really think I want to see my power vanish so quickly, simply because my elder brother returns?"

They continued on in silence, Belial pacing back and forth across the cliff, trampling plants and insects viciously. "As for you, my dear paladin, you are coming along because you amuse me, and because you just might prove a valuable distraction."

"And what's to stop me from telling my friends everything about your plans?" Rupert glared up just as furiously.

The demon chuckled nastily, and ahead of them animals could be heard fleeing from the sound. "Foolish man, as I told you - you are now my creation. You can do nothing I do not wish you to do."

Rupert opened his mouth to retort, but no matter how he tried, no sound would issue forth. Then he tried to halt his pace, only to have his body continue along, no matter how uncooperative he tried to be.

Shortly before the sun rose, Belial relented, returning control of his body to Rupert. "As I told you, my dear paladin, you are mine." Lost in his own helpless and terror-filled thoughts, Rupert did not even respond.

* * *

Oksana awoke in darkness. She shook her head, trying to clear away the dizziness, and discover where she was. The last thing she could remember was being in Sere's ship, belowdecks in one of the cabins. Then something had struck the ship, and everything went flying.

Somewhere nearby, a flint rasped, and soon a small light blossomed from a lamp. She tried to sit up, only to then discover that she had been manacled into place. The burns where they had been welded together were still fresh on her arms. Before her, holding a small oil lamp, stood a wiry old man. "Who are you? Where am I?"

He laughed then, a foreboding sound that crawled through the room. "You are here to be entertainment for my master. I am only a humble servant."

Oksana tried to stand, but the chains were suddenly jerked tight, pulling her arms backwards. She fell, staring up at the one who had pulled them. "How nice to see you again, assassin," Diablo growled. "Glad you could come back to visit."

Torture stood next to the table, slowly withdrawing his favored instruments of torment from beneath his flowing cloak. Diablo scooped up Oksana, laying her across the table and binding the chains tightly. "Make her pain last long, my servant," the demon said, "because this one has harmed me the most."

He giggled madly, clapping his hands like a child with candy. He thrust out a hand, running it over her pregnant belly. "Oh yes, my master, her pain will be a masterpiece, her screams a symphony!"

For two days, it continued. When Oksana became too weak or injured to continue, Torture would force healing potions down her throat. She lost count of how often he had peeled away her skin, dripping acids or burning poisons onto the raw flesh. Once he had skinned her arm, drawing forth the loose flesh and tying it about his neck like a scarf.

But the demons swiftly became bored with the regular cruelty. Diablo laughed wickedly as his lieutenant drew forth a two-foot needle from beneath his cloak, dragging the cold metal slowly across her abdomen. When he thrust it deep into her, she finally screamed for the first time.

At least a dozen more times he stabbed her, from different angles, but all for the same purpose. "Come, let us leave her here in the darkness for a bit," Diablo crooned, "so that everything may run its course. Then, perhaps if you are hungry, we can continue her torture session."

They left her in the darkness, bound to the stone table, feeling the convulsions of her body while tears ran down her face.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

They moved with the swaying of the ship. After a week, Benny had dragged them from the keep storeroom, shoving them into the back of the cargo space on one of the transport ships. Soldiers had erected a wall of barrels to keep them confined, and they were released one by one, at different times throughout the day, to walk the deck for exercise and use a chamber pot.

Ellonwye had been healed by one of the other paladins some hours after Benny's first visit. The others had been given their share of beatings, often quite bewildered at his questions about Rupert. He had vanished from the field sometime during or after the battle, yet somehow, none of the watch had seen him do so. Even the questions about Sere's ship could not be answered by Larzuk.

So they sailed towards Kurast, locked in the hold beneath the ship, biding their time, as days turned into weeks. Suddenly, a shudder ran through the entire ship. Shouts of alarm came from above, and there was a sudden rain of arrows along the deck. Tharos was free in an instant, removing the manacles of the barbarians first while the guards were distracted.

The sound of steel ringing on steel could be heard from above, even while they waited for the right opportunity. Their guards had fled towards the conflict above, and they quickly armed themselves with daggers and belaying pins. Then one of the Zakarum soldiers came tumbling down the ladder, an arrow through his throat. Ellonwye chuckled, and then launched herself up the ladder, the others all scrambling to follow her.

To their surprise, Benny's ship had been conquered remarkably quickly. All around them, Amazonian galleons battled against the Zakarum, with arrows and mounted catapults in some parts. One Zakarum ship had been rammed, and sailors fought on the decks even as it started to sink.

Ellonwye let out a trilling warcry, and the other women on the ship mirrored it, the sound echoing across the waves, spilling onto every ship to roll back and forth from mouth to mouth. Dozens of soldiers dropped their weapons in fear from the very sound. The elderly amazon turned to one of their rescuers. "Where is my husband?"

The other woman frowned, but another laughed. "What makes you think that old cuckold is here, Ellonwye?"

She laughed in response. "I am a warrior, but Achilles, he is a diplomat. So many ships here must be his doing, not any others, man or woman." She looked triumphant as an elderly man, perhaps slightly younger than her, appeared at the rail of the warship they were lashed to.

He strode across a rope as though it were flat ground, putting other warrior's agility to shame. Striding up, he almost swept Ellonwye off her feet with a resounding kiss. From somewhere in the back, Jezebel managed to mutter "wow" as the others stared.

Their kiss finally broke though, and Achilles turned to face his son-in-law. "Well, Ron, I see you have truly gotten yourself into trouble this time. Luckily for us, that annoying bird came with a message for us." He held forth a tiny scrap of parchment, covered in Garou's writing.

The barbarian nodded. "Erris and the others escaped with Sere, a ship captain. But we weren't sure they had reached safety." He then paused to read the note, and slowly turned pale and shaking.

Tharos stepped up to his elbow, reading over his shoulder. With a cry, he collapsed to his knees, burying his face in his hands, inconsolable. Jezebel and Larzuk looked at Ron Bars, who slowly tried to explain. "They shipwrecked on a small island to the west. But Oksana has been missing since then."

"She's in Hell by now!" Benny's shouting voice cut through the sadness like a whip. Tharos tried to lunge at him, controlled by his grief, but the two barbarians restrained him. "All of you will end up there, corrupted by evil!"

"You are the only one here controlled by Hell, Benny." The voice, familiar only to very few, reached every ship. All fighting stopped as everyone turned towards the speaker, floating above the flagship's wheel, staring impassively at the paladin while glowing wings held him aloft. "You have broken your oath as a paladin," Hadriel said firmly.

Benny thrashed against the ropes and his amazon guards, but they did not give an inch. "I have never broken my oath!" he cried out, almost desperately. "I have followed the orders given to me by the Council!"

Hadriel's voice was full of loathing. "You forget your oath so easily, Benny? 'I swear by my honor and soul to obey the laws of Heaven,'" he spat angrily. "If the Council is wrong, then it is your duty to remind them of that! And if you fail in just combat against a fellow paladin, then your course is wrong. Instead, you betrayed your honor and your oath, and slew another paladin from ambush."

"It was not my hand!" Benny screamed the words out, tears pouring from his face. All of the amazons, and the other heroes, looked on in confusion, but similar horror was mirrored on the faces of the other Zakarum soldiers.

"That does not matter!" Hadriel screamed back at him. Everyone stumbled, as the angel's voice shook the ocean around the fleet. "You ordered your men to fire, knowing it was a violation of your oath and besmirched your honor."

In wonder and fear, the others watched as Hadriel descended, standing before Benny in a blaze of golden light. "I name you without honor, Benny," and in a flash, Hadriel stripped away his armor, laying a hand in the center of Benny's chest. His scream ricocheted off the water, and everyone put hands to their ears.

Then Hadriel stepped back, leaving Benny slumping and tied to the mast. In the center of his chest was a red handprint, and within it a broken sword, branded into his chest. Several of the amazons stepped away from the angel as he turned towards the heroes. "Rupert is dead," he began, but his voice was quiet, meant for their ears alone. "His body has been hidden by Belial, which can only mean he has some further plan for it.

"Oksana is still alive, but she lies in Diablo's clutches," and Tharos sighed with relief, sagging between the barbarians as they held him up. "But Sareal has now collected all five pieces of corrupted Worldstone. Diablo will have them soon, possibly before you can arrive."

Jezebel interrupted with a wave of her hand. "Wait a moment. Who's Sareal?"

Larzuk answered for her, his voice heavy with disgust. "He's a member of the Council. Sareal was the one who tried to have Rupert named as an oathbreaker because of his friendship with me."

Hadriel snorted. "Love knows no boundaries, but leave it to humanity to screw up something meant to be pure and wonderful. And of course, stick their noses into places where they don't belong. Maybe next time Tyrael will listen to me when I say to put something dangerous on the moons!"

"I didn't think there was anything on the moons," Jezebel muttered in surprise. As Hadriel floated up into the sky, he shot back, "That's the point!"

* * *

Jaresh laughed, running between the rows of wheat. He could hear the other three children chasing along behind him, but they hadn't caught him yet. Aragon could be heard as well, shouting after them to come in and clean up for dinner. The children, naturally, paid no attention.

He passed out of the wheat row, spinning around and dashing down another one. The plants grew strong and healthy, and tomorrow the harvest would start. Some of the adults had argued in favor of harvesting earlier, before the weather began to frost, but tradition would be upheld just this once.

Then Jaresh stumbled, hearing one of the girls screaming. It was a high shriek, filled with fear, and he turned around slowly, creeping back to the edge of the row. From the village, farmers came running, along with the half-dozen Zakarum who had taken over his old home. Swords and pitchforks could be seen flashing in the sunlight.

Suddenly, the girl's shriek stopped. Jaresh heard one of the other children rushing past, down the next row of wheat, fleeing for the village. He crept forward a little more, and lost his breath suddenly.

Horror had emerged from the trees at the edge of the farmland, and the girl was slowly vanishing, being consumed. A tormented face surfaced in the morass of flesh, the face stuck in an expression of pain. Then the demon started forward, scuttling forward on several raw, dripping limbs.

The soldiers reached it first, striking away with sword and mace. But their weapons did little to the great demon. New growths suddenly appeared, breaking away from the surface with a spray of bile, latching onto one soldier. He screamed as Horror tore his arms off, dropping them into himself to feed. The others stumbled away, and farmers were already running.

Jaresh stayed there, frozen in fear, watching the demon slowly drag the body into himself, then the face of the girl surfaced. Her eyes were half closed, mouth open still with her scream. He started retching, and heard Horror turn towards him.

He managed to stop, looking up just in time to see the demon looming over him. He screamed then, crawling backwards as quickly as he could. The demon followed him, tauntingly, stopping whenever the boy fell. Then a rough arrow came flying out, vanishing completely into the roiling flesh. Horror rose up, twice the height of a human, a tower of trapped people.

Jaresh got up, running away as another arrow was fired. "Run, Jaresh, run away lad!" Aragon shouted as he fit another arrow to the string. Behind him, villagers were grabbing what little they could and fleeing down the road. The nearest Baron's castle was almost a league away, and walls and better magic was these peasants only chance of survival.

Horror turned on the farmer, rushing forward dizzyingly fast. Aragon managed to fire one more arrow before he was engulfed in a tidal wave of flesh. Not even a scream came as the demon turned again, the body half-dissolved, stuck where he had been struck. Jaresh glanced over his shoulder, and screamed again as he saw the demon closing on him again.

The boy ran into the barn, scrambling for the ladder up into the hay loft. Cows and horses whinnied in fear as Horror entered the door, kicking frantically at their stalls and foaming at the mouth. Jaresh looked down as the demon moved slowly up to the ladder, then started throwing down bales of hay at him, trying desperately to slow it down.

Horror merely laughed, dodging the clumsily launched hay, moving slowly through and over the growing pile of hay. He could feel the boy's fear, roll through it like a dog in garbage. Even the image made him laugh, a noise that sounded like dozens of voices in a disjointed chorus.

When Horror reached the ladder, Jaresh grabbed the small oil lamp. He dumped most of the oil down on the demon, then as it stared him with dawning comprehension, lit the rest and dropped the lamp.

The fire exploded in a wave, oil and hay turning the barn floor into an instant inferno. Flames shot up the oil-streaked ladder as well, sending him jumping backwards as it scorched his hands. Jaresh ran for the small window as the hay above all suddenly lit on fire at once. Below, Horror could be heard, screeching in a handful of voices, a new one starting up as another ran out of breath.

He dived through the window, his eyes squeezed shut against the flames. His clothes had caught fire as well, and they flared as fresh air went rushing past him. Then Jaresh crashed into the large boysenberry bush below, landing in a hard thump on the ground. He rolled around, fighting free of the vines, and managed to reach his feet again.

Other than bruises and burns, he was uninjured. His clothes hung in charred tatters, but that didn't stop Jaresh. He started running, away and into the woods. Behind him, trapped in the flaming barn, Horror screamed, the insane voices blending on the afternoon wind.

* * *

Erris awoke with the dawn light shining in the window. She stood up, tossing off the blanket and stretching. The wooden floor wasn't the most comfortable thing in the world, but it beat sleeping outside in the rain. Garou and Sere were still sleeping, so she padded quietly out of the room, and down the narrow, winding staircase of the lighthouse.

The keeper, a cripple named Ward, had found them on the beach the next morning. They had spent the day searching, but nothing had been found of Oksana. Thinking of her missing friends brought tears to her eyes for a moment, but she wiped them away angrily. There wasn't any time for tears right now. Munin had been sent to her father with a message, but the raven hadn't come back in two weeks.

She unlatched the door and stepped outside into the gloomy air. They would search a new estate today. Ward had told them that the island used to be a retreat for nobles, years ago, during the sunny season. Right now, the island was virtually abandoned, and until they knew that Oksana was not around, they would keep searching. Of course, they also had to hope they could find something larger than a pleasure yacht.

Erris turned around as the door opened again behind her. Garou stepped outside, still rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Another morning of searching the island?"

She sighed, staring east at the ocean. "Unless you have a master plan to find Oksana and get us off this island, yes." Her voice was bitter and tired, but she knew that all of them were feeling like this.

The door opened again, and Sere and Ward emerged. The sentinel was tired from his nightly vigil, but even as the only living person on the island for the last two years, he never shirked his duty. Erris sometimes wondered how in the world he managed to keep the lighthouse lit, and still find time to farm to feed and clothe himself.

"I saw something interesting last night," he said in his remarkably melodious voice. "The lamp blew out with a gust sometime after midnight, and while I was trying to relight it, I noticed a light from the old Ferrier mansion." He pointed at the old house with his deformed arm, not quite at the top of the hill. "There were rumors when the family was alive that they were demon-worshippers."

The three heroes turned to stare up at the mansion. They had searched the estate next to it the day before, and had gotten a few looks at the house. It was built almost like a Zakarum temple from the outside, the weather-faded paint in shades of blue and gold. "Any idea of those rumors were true?"

Ward shook his head solemnly, making a warding sign with his good hand. "No, but the entire household vanished one summer solstice night. Around that time, the other nobles started leaving, claiming that ghosts prowled the island." He turned, shuffling back inside. "I believe that their ship might still be at their private docks, at the bottom of the hill, if that will help you."

Erris adjusted the strap on her quiver of arrows, then nodded decisively. "Right. Let's get going then." She started walking down the old road towards the estates, the other two reluctantly falling in behind her.

They stopped in the main village, picking up torches and oil lamps, before beginning the hike up the hill to reach the Ferrier estate. The gates had long since rusted shut, but the tattered remains of a notice was still stuck to them. Sadly, the sun and rain had worn away the words, and Garou snorted irritably as he scaled the gate. "It looks abandoned."

They climbed the wall after him, crossing through the waist-high grass and weeds, stomping past flowering bushes turned wild. The front doors were blank slabs of wood, pitted and covered in moss. At a signal from Erris, Garou kicked at the door. The lock was sturdy however, and they didn't budge. He swore, hopping up and down for a moment, cradling his foot.

Sere looked down the front wall of the house. "I think that balcony door is open," he said, gesturing upwards with one of his pistols. "I can't climb that wall, but if one of you can get inside, you can open the front door." Erris looked at the wall, the stones worn smooth by wind and rain, and shrugged.

She walked away from the house several feet, then took a running leap, grabbing the edge of the balcony and pulling herself up. The rotted wooden railing fell away under her hands, but soon she stood safely on the balcony. "The glass doors are broken, but they don't seem to be latched," she called down. "I'll try and get down there to open the door. If not, I'll see if I can find another way out."

The two men stood on the front steps of the Ferrier mansion, pacing back and forth anxiously, occasionally trying to peer in through the grimy windows into other rooms. Finally, there was a thump from the front door, and they readied themselves. It steadied into a rhythmic sound, and then the doors creaked open. Erris pulled them inwards, dropping the rusty axe she had bashed apart the lock with. "I really don't like this house," she said quietly, and they stepped into the entryway with her.

Despite the dazzling architecture, painted murals, and a chandelier studded with gemstones, their eyes went first to the pentagram painted in the middle of the floor. After staring at it for a moment, Garou bent down near it and sniffed. "This was painted with human blood," he whispered, and his words echoed through the hall.

They stood frozen in the hallway for several minutes, then Sere stepped forward. "Come on, let's search this house quickly. Then we can get out of here even sooner." He strode brazenly across the pentagram, the dried blood scuffing away under his boots.

A sudden roaring filled the room, and every into every empty doorway stepped a magma demon. He stopped suddenly, drawing his rapier. "Well," Garou said, "I think we're in a bit of trouble now."

"No kidding," Erris shot back. "At least we know something's in here."

"Why's that?" Sere asked, looking at his thin sword and feeling slightly outclassed.

She grinned, fitting three arrows to her bow. "Simple. If there wasn't anything here, then why would the demons have attacked us as soon as we stepped inside?"

The arrows flew on the air, blasting into one demon and splitting it almost in half. But the others raised their hands, hurling balls of lava.

* * *

Natalya entered the city from the jungle's edge. Almost all of her fellow assassins had managed to escape the Zakarum jail, fighting past the surprised guards at the gatehouse. They would have all escaped, if Sasha hadn't gone berserk and buried her knife to the hilt in one soldier.

She shook the distracting thought away, blending into the crowd. They had been camped in the jungle for three days, while she picked pockets to buy food, clothing, and re-equip everyone with better weapons. And sadly, she had yet to find Boris. The only place she hadn't searched yet was the sewers, and there were at least a dozen hidden rooms she knew about.

She went through the bazaar like any other normal citizen, haggling fiercely over her purchases and enjoying the surprisingly balmy spring day. The winter solstice was less than a month away, she remembered.

That night, she returned to the city, walking the streets cloaked in shadows. The passing guards never saw the invisible assassin as she descended into the sewers. For hours she paced the tunnels, finding every hidden compartment broken open and ransacked. Then, as she approached the eighth one, it was still closed.

She reached for the hidden release, and a rasping sound came from behind her. Natalya spun around, her cestus and a firebomb appearing in her hands like magic. Half a dozen ghouls stood behind her. Their fingers had been transformed into claws, and their eyes glowed with red, bloodthirsty light. She gulped nervously, and the first one darted forward.

It screamed as her bomb lit it on fire, dropping into the foul water to extinguish them. Then with a sound of breaking glass, the ghoul froze solid. The others dashed away back into the darkness, yipping in fear. Something struck the ghoul and it shattered, the pieces of frozen flesh vanishing under the water.

Boris stepped forward, tossing away his cloak of shadows. "Natalya," he hissed, "I was wondering where you'd gone for so long." He lowered his weapon, stepping forward to join her. "Where are the rest?"

She stared at the fresh wounds on his face, vicious claw marks trailing down one cheek and across his shoulder. "Twenty of us got out. The rest were already dead," she said very quietly. "Everyone else is hiding in the jungles outside of the city." The hidden door opened, and she followed him inside, staring at the four students. "What happened here?"

Everyone bore fresh injuries, and the sole female student lay on the ground, writhing with a fever. The smell of infected flesh was thick inside the room. Boris simply shook his head. "Those ghouls found this place. They used to be Zakarum, but something has reached down and corrupted them." He looked pitilessly at the girl. "If we don't do something soon, she'll become one of them."

Another student looked up at them, his eye wide and staring. One side of his face was still a bloody ruin, three sets of claw marks crisscrossing it. Natalya thought she could see bone through the torn flesh. Finally she sighed, slumping her shoulders and nodding. "Finish her. We have to get everyone out of the city for right now. There's no hiding place secure enough in all of Kurast."

Boris pointed the contraption at the girl, and a glass bead shattered on her chest, freezing her solid. Then he picked up the mace near the door, and shattered her body into icy, meaty chunks. "You heard your teacher," he said, "let's get moving." They trekked out into the sewers, every hand armed as they fled the city.

* * *

Sere fired his pistol, watching the bullet splatter through the magma demon's head. It jerked back, half of the twisted, burning face blown away, but it kept coming. He attacked desperately with his rapier, but the slender blade did little to the demon except poke holes, which rapidly filled in. He ducked and dodged frantically, but the demon was closing on him rapidly.

Garou roared, shifting into his werewolf worm easily. A trio of magma demons was closing on him, and he leaped over them, watching their thrown missiles fly past. His claws tore one demon almost in half, then the other two were pummeling him. He yelped in pain as they burned away his fur, leaving scorched patches of flesh across his sides. Desperately, he leapt again, sinking his claws into the wall as he tried to find an escape.

Erris was firing as rapidly as she could grasp arrows, blasting fiery rocks from the air and the occasional shot at the demons. The four on the second floor had obviously marked her as the most important target, and she could feel the burning patches on her legs and arms where she had dodged a moment too late.

Sere shouted, rolling away towards the front door. "What the hell are these things?" he shouted desperately, dropping his rapier and drawing his other pistol desperately.

Garou growled as he jumped again, moments before a barrage of flaming rocks broke apart the wall. He landed behind the demons, slashing out desperately but doing little damage. "I don't know! I've never seen them before!"

Erris grabbed a handful of arrows, accepting a glancing blow to her knee as she launched a dozen arrows towards the top of the stairs. "I think they're magma demons!" She almost cheered as two of them fell back, decapitated, before the others threw another volley of rocks. "I've heard about them. Very bad demons!"

Sere jumped back to his feet, stepping backwards into the doorway as he dodged. "What the hell are they doing here?" He leveled his other pistol, blasting away what remained of the magma demon's head. It toppled forward, crashing to the marble floor, the flames guttering out as it died.

Garou dodged away again, then rolled underneath a demon, slashing at his legs. "They must be helpers of Diablo," he grunted, getting hit in the back as he tried to disembowel the same demon. It roared in pain, swinging at him.

Erris leaped onto the handrail, ducking another rock and blasting a third demon in half. "Does it matter? Let's just kill them and search this place!"

Sere muttered something, ducking outside the door as he frantically reloaded his pistols. Garou yelped again as a rock struck his shoulder, then grabbed a magma demon by the throat, almost tearing its head off even as it scorched his face. Sere ducked back inside, stepping up behind the other one and blowing his head off.

They turned towards the stairs, all of them staring viciously at the three magma demons still standing at the top of the staircase. As if realizing their danger, the demons paused in their attack. Then Diablo threw open the double doors beneath the stairs, striding forth with his scales glimmering. "Erris, Garou, so glad you could join me." He looked at Sere, his eyes narrowed. "I don't know you."

Sere snickered, finishing reloading his pistols. "Glad to hear that. How about you stand aside and tell us what you did to Oksana?"

He threw back his head and laughed. Then he closed one hand, as though wrapping it around Sere. His eyes suddenly widened, and his hands clenched around his pistols. A fine tremor started up and down his arms, and then he suddenly collapsed to his knees. Garou and Erris stepped back next to him, suddenly nervous.

Diablo chuckled, still staring into Sere's eyes. "I could literally scare him to death. Unlike you and your friends, he doesn't have a blessing from Heaven shielding him from my full powers." His magma demons were slowly descending the stairs, joined by several more of their type.

Sere whispered something, even though his eyes were still locked with the demon's. Diablo leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. "What did you say, mortal?" He raised an arm and fired blindly, the bullet ricocheting off the top of Diablo's skull, blasting away scarlet scales with a spray of blood. The demon jerked backwards, roaring in pain and anger, but his spell of terror was broken.

Erris fired again, burying an arrow up to the feathers into his arm, and Sere fired his other pistol, blasting a hole in the demon's side. Garou bounded onto the staircase, bowling over the first two magma demons and tearing at them with tooth and claw. As the demons swarmed forward, Diablo fled through the doors, disappearing back into the house.

They fought against the new dozen magma demons, cursing aloud as their adversary fled.

* * *

Under the small, bright light, Rupert continued to stumble along. Belial continued on in front of him, and the paladin wondered briefly what could be so important about him to make a Lord of Hell become his personal escort. It had been almost a week since the battle at Jezebel's school, and he despaired at what had happened to his friends.

He stopped as he ran into Belial. The demon had stopped, staring down the cliff. A small section of the desert separated from the sea, perhaps two or three miles. "We will wait until nightfall," he rasped, turning back towards the thin line of trees. "It will be cooler, and my ship will be waiting for us there."

Rupert followed silently, unable to protest even if he wanted to. He sat under the trees, morosely watching the sunlight through the leaves, and eating a pigeon that Belial caught for him. Night fell, and slowly the demon roused from his nap. "Come, slave," he whispered, "It is time for us to travel."

They moved back to the edge of the cliff, and Belial raised his hands, chanting in a demonic tongue. Great slabs of stone rose out of the sands below, forming a ramp down to the desert floor. A small pack of nocturnal hunters fled, racing away across the sands. Rupert watched them with empty eyes, reluctantly following the demon as they crossed the sands.

Before midnight, they reached the shoreline, and stood for several minutes as Belial stared at the stars and up and down the shore in both directions. Then a small lamp was unshuttered a few hundred feet away, offshore. He smiled, and they started walking down the shore, towards the ship. A small rowboat was beached on the sandy shore, a pair of men in blackened armor waiting patiently.

They both knelt before the demon, and one of them started making intricate hand gestures, far too fast for Rupert to follow. "I understand," Belial rasped. "This one is a slave. He may prove useful in my plan. Take him aboard. If there are rats, catch them and feed them to him throughout the journey." He moved as though to walk across to the ship.

But the soldier again began his hand movements, quick and nervously. He fell back, cowering, as Belial stepped forward. "Who decided this?" His voice was low, filled with rage.

"That was my decision, Lord," the second man spoke. Rupert stared at him, the intricately etched armor, the small grooves filled with something sparkling. Probably gold or powdered gemstones, he thought. "The fishing boat had been out at night, fleeing from Kurast, when they stumbled upon us. It seemed safer than merely killing them."

Belial stepped forward, lifting him off the feat with one massive hand. "Only because you have been a faithful servant to me, Arkas, will I overlook this. We must move quickly." He dropped the soldier back to the sand, striding across the water's surface towards the waiting vessel.

Rupert stared after him for a moment, until Arkas grabbed him by the arm. "Into the boat, zombie." He almost fell as the soldier yanked him towards the small rowboat.

"My name is Rupert," he forced out, stepping into the boat and sitting down. The soldiers shoved it away from the shore, leaping in with a small spray of brine. "Why doesn't the other soldier talk?"

He laughed, a broken sound, and opened his mouth wide. By moonlight, Rupert could see that his tongue had been torn out of his mouth. He leaned back, disgusted, and Arkas laughed. "You have never heard of the Silent Liars, corpse?"

"No, not in all the years I spent as a paladin," he muttered quietly. "How is it that you can talk?"

Arkas grimaced, pulling on one oar as the boat shot for their ship. "Once I had proved my loyalty to his cause, Belial returned my tongue to me." They sat in silence until they had reached the ship, climbing the rope ladder quietly. Arkas led Rupert below decks, taking a key and removing the padlock on what had been the captain's quarters. "You'll stay in here until my Lord says otherwise."

Rupert was shoved roughly inside, falling to the floor as his slowly rotting flesh betrayed him. A faint moan came from behind him, and he looked up, trying to stand up. Sitting on the bed were two women, obviously mother and daughter. He stared at them. "You have nothing to fear from me," he slurred out. "I am, or was, a paladin."

Sitting on the floor, he stared at the locked door. "Now I'm just a prisoner like you."

* * *

Sere pulled the trigger, and the last magma demon stumbled backwards, his arm falling off as the bullet plowed through his shoulder. A pair of arrows flew over his shoulders, separating the head from the demon, and the body collapsed, flames sputtering out. He stopped, leaning against the wall and rubbing his arm. "I really hate these things," he muttered painfully.

Garou laughed, his fur receding as he shifted back into human form. "You're not the only one," he grunted, feeling along his ribs and the multiple burned spots.

Erris snorted and pulled out some healing potions. "Come on, we have to search this place quickly. Diablo is planning something here, and we've disrupted his plans." She strode through the double doors where the demon had vanished, stepping over another pile of rock.

The two men followed her, moving rapidly through every room in the house, weapons at the ready. But every room was empty, bare of any demonic paraphernalia other than the original pentagram. They stopped for the third time in the main hall, Erris fuming angrily. "They have to be here somewhere!"

Sere turned towards the front doors, staring outside at the ruined garden, then suddenly snapped his fingers. "Wait, there was a gardener shed out back, wasn't there?" They all turned, racing through the building and out a broken window. The gardener shed was a rickety old building, the wood almost falling apart due to age and neglect.

Garou kicked the door, but something barred it from the inside. Erris pulled him roughly aside, blasting a trio of arrows through the door. It fell inside as the crossbar was broken, and they all leaped inside. Unfortunately, this shattered the door as their weight landed on it, and they fell down the shaft. The druid managed to grab the ladder, bringing him to a halt as he slammed into the wall, but the others hit the bottom, thirty feet down.

They seemed pitifully still as he descended into the demonic sanctuary.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Ron Bars pulled on the line as the ship approached the dock. They had arrived back in Kurast, and he stared across the docks, comparing it with his memories. Almost everything had been rebuilt, and the constant fog had vanished, replaced by the noise of hundreds of people, loading ships and arguing over cargo.

Ellonwye and Achilles strode across the deck as the crew prepared to drop the gangplank. "Flying a different flag, we should be safe for a few days," he said. "The other ships will be going back out to sea tomorrow, most of them returning to the islands." He watched the movement on the docks as well for a moment.

Jezebel nodded, holding a bag with some equipment. "We know that the Council was trying to bring us here, so once Sere and the others find their own transport, they'll come here as well."

Tharos adjusted his armor. "In the meantime, hopefully we can snoop around and find some information about their plans."

"And Diablo," Ellonwye said quietly. "The angel said he would be here soon as well." She shuddered. "But my husband and I will be on the ship, waiting to help you escape if we can." She gave all of them a clap on the shoulder.

Larzuk led the way down the gangplank and into the city. The other heroes barely recognized Kurast, rebuilt from the destruction that Mephisto had wrought with his Compelling Orb. "Well," he said, looking around, "where do we go now?"

Jezebel took the lead. "Garou and I have been back here a few times, mostly searching for more teachers." A look of pain at the state of her school passed briefly over her face, then she led them away. They strode through the city, past markets and temples and neighborhoods filled with families. Finally, on the edge of the city she stopped in front of a ramshackle, three story building. "We should be fairly safe here," she said.

Tharos looked the building over, and glanced around the neighborhood. "I've seen trash heaps with more class, Jezebel," he muttered back. "Why here?"

Ron Bars chuckled as he reached for the door. "There haven't been any guards in sight for the last six blocks." He held the door as the others filed inside. The entryway was small, damp, and barely lit by the sunlight filtering through the cracks in the wall. A wizened old man sat on a chair, a dusty book propped on his lap. If his eyes hadn't moved when they came inside, he might have been considered dead.

Jezebel stepped forward, smiling, and extended a hand to the old man. "You can drop the act, Cody. These are friends of mine." The old man smiled, and the world seemed to bleed around them. Warped, weather-beaten boards melted into high-quality painted plaster, and the dirt on the floor was suddenly a tiled mosaic. The old man was suddenly sitting in a padded, high-back chair, and no longer old.

Cody rose, setting aside the book, the only thing left unchanged in the room. The others stared around in surprise while Cody laughed and bowed over Jezebel's hand. "Well met again, lady Jezebel. Seeing you here must mean the rumors are true, and the Zakarum have destroyed your promising school." He shook his head disapprovingly.

Ron Bars ran his hand along the wall. "A moment ago, this was rotting wood. I felt it. What did you do?"

Jezebel chuckled. "Cody is the most talented illusionist I've ever met. He came to Kurast after we defeated Mephisto and took over an abandoned manor, turning it into a hotel and meeting place for the magically inclined." He gave a short bow to Ron Bars, small pieces of Worldstone sewn into his outfit glittering in the sourceless magical light. "He sent several students to us."

He bowed, and removed four keys from the pocket of his smoking jacket. "Here are rooms for you. I assume that your husband and others must be prisoners?"

Tharos shook his head. "No, we were. Our Amazon friends rescued us, but Garou and our other friends are shipwrecked somewhere west of Westmarch. We're waiting for them." He took one of the keys, looking at the patterned tin curiously. "How do these work?"

Cody laughed, leading them through a lavish dining room towards a staircase. "The keys and doors are magically enchanted, as I despise thieves. Place the key against the plate on the doorway, and if you have the right room, it shall open." They followed him up the stairs, down a hallway with thick carpeting. "Your rooms are here," he gestured at the doors. "Breakfast and dinner are served at sunrise and sunset. Let me know how much information you need on the Zakarum."

Larzuk stopped Jezebel before everyone went into their rooms. "How much can we trust this guy, anyway?" He looked around suspiciously. "And how does he afford to keep up this place, anyway?"

Jezebel sighed. "Cody is a smuggler, trading in goods that the Zakarum have banned from Kurast. He also trades information sometimes, but only with those he considers friends." He looked down the hallway where he had vanished. "He's never made that offer to me before, so something important is happening around here."

Larzuk shook his head. "I don't like it, but I'll deal with the situation for now." They all stepped into their rooms to rest, change, and prepare for spending the afternoon listening around town.

In the hallway, an invisible Cody covered a smile with his hand, and departed the hallway, returning to his station at the front door. He found the barbarian's mistrust humorous, but it was not important to him. Their arrival in town, however, would be worth a great deal of money to the right ears.

* * *

Boris threw the small knife, watching it thud into the possum. He slunk through the jungle, picking up the mammal where it landed. They hadn't been eating very well out here in the jungle, and this would help at least a little bit. He stopped suddenly, hearing a voice. "Boris?" It threaded through the trees like a vine.

He peered around, but seeing no one. His cloak of shadows was still pulled tightly around him, so the chance of anyone seeing him was almost impossible. He frowned, taking a good grip on the small knife, still looking around.

Then a figure stepped out of a tree. He jumped back, almost throwing the knife before he recognized the figure. "Corras? What are you doing here?"

He laughed. "I'm going by Cody now. I'm running a hotel here for the magically inclined who are hiding from Zakarum. And speaking of which, a few of them showed up today." He raised his hands, bringing up illusions of the four heroes.

Boris frowned. "They look like Natalya's descriptions of the heroes who defeated the Prime Evils."

Cody nodded. "They are indeed. But if the Zakarum knows they are in town, they will be looking for them, and me. Do you know somewhere to hide? Do you have a plan?"

The assassin snarled. "If we had a plan, we wouldn't still be hiding in the jungle." He stared off angrily into the trees. "Do you think we could meet them?"

"Of course. You do realize, however," he paused, putting his hands back into his jacket, "that I expect payment for this. The Viz-jaq'taar have always paid me well for the information I give them."

Boris chuckled. "And how are we supposed to pay you right now?"

Cody shook his head. "I'll wait to call in a favor after this crisis has passed." He turned away, starting back towards the tree he emerged from. "Farewell, Boris."

He nodded, turning back towards their campsite. "Farewell, little brother."

* * *

Garou reached the bottom of the ladder and knelt beside Erris. She was still breathing slowly, though blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. Sere was in similar shape, lying on his back with blood slowly pooling under his head. He picked up the pistols, holding the unfamiliar weapons gingerly as he strode down the crude tunnel.

The way was lit fitfully by patches of glowing moss and small enchanted pebbles. Garou was surprised their magic had lasted so long after the Worldstone shattered, but he slunk along carefully. The place smelled like mold, blood, and shit - the smells of death. Over it all he could smell Diablo himself, a ruffling smell like a snake. He fought to keep from growling, to keep his anger from letting loose the animal within.

Soon, the tunnel began to widen, and a brighter light could be seen from ahead. The dancing flames sent jagged shadows whirling along the tunnel walls, as the soft soil turned to basalt and obsidian rock. Then it opened into a giant cavern, and he lost his breath as he took in the sight.

Torches were placed around the edge of the cave, their light managing only barely to fight back the darkness. Across the floor, the Ferriers had carved a giant pentagram, the edges set with runes of obsidian. In the center was a stone altar, with Oksana chained to it. Something next to her, on the floor, was nothing more than a bloody mass. Garou started forward, only to run into a magical wall when he tried to cross into the pentagram. "Diablo!" he shouted, "Show yourself, you weakling demon!"

A sudden rush came from behind him and he jumped, the poisoned dagger brushing past his clothes to clatter on the rocks behind him. Torture smiled, his teeth glinting reddish in the firelight. "So, you are one of the manfools determined to stop my master." He took a few steps forward, drawing another dagger from beneath his cloak. It shone with a sickly yellow poison. "But this is not to be your place!"

He dashed forward, and Garou almost shifted before remembering the pistols in his hands. He raised one and fired, the blast stopping Torture in his tracks. Blood pooled out from beneath the cloak as the demon stared at him, then slowly fell to his knees. He dropped the spent weapon, reaching out again with a hand to probe the magical circle.

The wall still stood, so he paced around the circle, looking for any weak point or anything he could use to break it. Before long, he had come full circle, and went to step over Torture's still body.

As he did so, the demon lunged upwards. The poisoned dagger cut deeply into his thigh, and Garou roared, dropping the other pistol as he shifted. His claws ripped into Torture's neck as he hefted the demon, slamming him repeatedly against the magical wall. The wails of an old man issued forth, and Garou stopped, holding him in the air against the circle's edge.

Torture clawed at the druid's arms, fighting to draw breath, even as he smiled grimly. "You will be dead before you can kill me," he wheezed faintly. In response, Garou's other hand pulled forth a small bone amulet, hidden beneath his fur. It was carved with Rathman runes, and the demon despaired as he recognized the poison immunity protection on it.

Then Garou squeezed harder, his claws tearing out all the flesh of his neck. Torture's head flopped lazily for a moment, held on by only his spine, then the circle broke from his blood spattering across the line. He hurled the corpse across the cavern, rushing for the altar and Diablo's victim.

Oksana was still half-conscious, her eyes closed, whispering nonsensically. He clawed at the irons, but they had been welded together around her arms. The skin on one arm lay in tatters, pus oozing forth from the wound even as he watched. Garou roared his anger to the ceiling, then returned to his human form and started searching the cave more diligently.

Before long, he found the stock of healing potions, using several on Oksana before returning down the tunnel to heal and awaken Erris and Sere. "What happened," Erris mumbled, running hands over her chest to check for broken ribs. "Did Diablo lay a whammy on us?"

Garou shook his head. "No, you fell down this shaft," he pointed up, and she stared up at the faint daylight from the ramshackle hut above. "I found Oksana," he said quietly. "It's not good."

Sere gasped, and started scrambling around. "My flashdrakes!" he said, his eyes wide. "What happened to them?"

Garou chuckled, starting down the tunnel. "I had to borrow them. Too bad they didn't seem to do much good against Diablo's pet torturer." They followed him through the dim mosslight to the cave, striding up to the altar. Despite the healing potions, Oksana was still lying there, eyes squeezed shut against the outside world, whispering nonsense. "I don't know what's wrong with her," he said quietly. "I used at least half the healing potions here on her."

Stepping sideways to circle the altar, Erris suddenly paled. "No wonder," she said, her voice choked. "They killed the baby while still inside of her. And who knows what else." She turned away from the bloody mass on the floor, fighting off tears and nausea.

Sere shuddered, closing his own eyes. "I know that's bad, but right now we need to get Oksana out of this foul cave. Why didn't you take off the irons?" Garou carefully lifted one of her arms, showing the weld marks. The chains looked as though they had been melted into the very altar itself.

He sat on the floor and thought carefully for a few minutes. "This is the best plan I can think of," the captain finally said. "Garou goes back to the main part of the village, to look for a blacksmith or something to break off these irons. Erris stays down here, and I go back to Ward, see if he knows anything."

Wearily nodding her consent, Erris sat down on the stone herself, taking out a rag and oiling her bow. The two men turned sadly away, escaping to the surface world.

* * *

Jaresh snuck along in the darkness. He had been lost in the forest for days, drinking whenever he could find a stream and eating anything he recognized. He had been lucky, finding a tree with a few stunted, bird-pecked apples that he made last for two days. Then he stepped out of the trees, facing the largest building he had ever seen in his life. Torches lit the outside of the monastery, and he could see people with bows, pacing around the front in the night.

He crept a little closer, trying not to become too excited. He had seen lights one night out in the forest, only to come closer to see the house. Some madman had lived there, decorating the outside of his hut with the rotting skins of animals. The man had come outside, waving a bloody axe and Jaresh had fled, running for miles through the forest, even when the man had stopped chasing him. What would these people be doing in the middle of the forest unless they were mad?

He screamed suddenly as someone grabbed him from behind, lifting him off the ground. He kicked and swung his arms, and then bit as they tried to change their grip. The woman screeched in outrage and dropped him, chasing after the boy as he fled in fear. Then a pair of twanging noises came from behind him, and Jaresh crashed to the ground.

The arrows had only cut into his clothing, and he was up again in a moment, but a trio of women had caught up to him then. One held a torch and the other two bows, though their arrows were not pointed at him. "By the angels, what are you doing out here, boy?" The one with the torch dropped to one knee, tilting the light forward to get a better view of him. "What's your name, lad?"

He sniffled, staring at them for several moments, before one woman took the arrow away and slung her bow. "Put your weapon up, Flora. He's no harm to us."

She sniffed angrily. "He bit me!" she said, but obeyed, putting her weapon away and moving away a few paces. The woman with the torch held out a hand, and Jaresh shied from it.

"Look, boy, we're friends. I don't know what you were running from in that forest, but nothing stops the Sisters for long." She carefully jabbed the butt of the torch into the grass and fumbled with a belt pouch. Drawing forth a piece of dried apricot, she held it forth. "I'll give you this if you tell us your name."

He hesitated for a long moment, torn between hunger and fear. Finally he reached for the fruit, muttering his name. "'m Jaresh," he said, stuffing it into his face and chewing. Kashya looked down at her other soldier, then turned back towards the Monastery gates. "Who're you?" he mumbled around the fruit, still chewing at the tough, sugared flesh.

She smiled, and held out a hand again. "My name is Aradne. We are the Sisters of the Sightless Eye." He took the hand, and she picked up the torch again, leading him back towards their home. "You are safe with us. What were you running from?"

He fell silent, his eyes darting around in fear again. Out in the forest, whenever he paused to sleep, he could still hear the voices of the flesh demon, screaming in agony as it burned in the barn. The faces of the people it had eaten swam through his dreams, screaming at him. But worst was the face of Aragon, which did not scream at him. It just stared silently, blaming him for his death.

Aradne stayed silent, leading him back towards the gate, squeezing his hand softly in reassurance. Then from the forest came the splinter of trees, and Horror burst into the clearing. Jaresh screamed again, breaking free of her hand and running, not towards the Monastery but the other side of the clearing. Horror surged after him. His surface was covered in patches of burned flesh, the faces that appeared were scarred where the flesh had bubbled and melted in the heat.

Twenty arrows leaped from bows, slamming into the demon's side and sending it staggering. But it surged forward again on half a dozen legs, scuttling forward with barbed limbs eager to tear into the women. Kashya shouted orders, her Worldstone amulet glimmering in the night as an icy arrow slammed into one leg. Horror stopped as the leg froze solid, then shattered away in icy chunks of flesh as another volley of arrows hit him.

Aradne ignored the demon, chasing after Jaresh. She reached him at the treeline, grabbing for his shirt. "Jaresh, come back!" But the cloth, already weakened by many days in the forest, tore under her grip, and he darted through a thornbush. She ran around it, trying to track him through the night, her torch leaving behind a brief trail of glowing sparks as she fled into the dark wilderness after him.

* * *

Rupert sat silently in the cabin. They had been sailing for three days now. Yesterday, one of the soldiers had come down to the cabin to be entertained by their women prisoners. Rupert squeezed the life out of him without a second thought. Then Belial froze his body, and tortured one of them almost to death while he was forced to watch. Then his body, still under the demon's control, started feeding on her while the Lord of Lies mocked him.

Now, when Arkas opened the door, Rupert felt his body freezing up, under Belial's control again. The ship captain laughed softly, staring at his rigid form. "Poor fallen paladin," he mocked, "cat got your tongue?"

They stood there for a few moments, eyes locked on each other. The two women behind him stayed silent, one still covered in bandages where he had been forced to eat her. Then Arkas stepped forward, and grabbed the other girl around the neck. "We're almost in Kurast. I hear they have a rather brisk underground trade in slaves." He shoved her back onto the bunk, and looked at Rupert again. "Belial says you'll be going with him on a mission. Be good."

He laughed again at his own joke, then slammed closed the cabin door, locking them back in the darkness. Rupert's body was again his own, and he groaned. The women were softly sobbing, but nothing he had done had comforted them before. After some time, he felt the boat bumping against a pier, and the sounds of the sailors securing lines and shouting back and forth.

Everything aboard the ship stayed fairly normal for a few hours. Then the lock clicked open, and the door opened. Two of Belial's followers grabbed the healthy woman, putting her under some magical spell. She walked out of the cabin, silent, with a dreamy look on her face. Arkas stood at the door, and gestured imperiously to Rupert.

Unhappily, he rose to his feet, following them from the ship and onto the docks of Kurast. Belial stood on the wood, and Rupert gave a cursory glance around the rebuilt docks. Then the group had started off, with Belial forcing him to keep up to their fast speed. Soon they reached the residential areas, and descended into the sewers. They tread the wandering corridors, passing by a few packs of ghouls.

Strangely, none of the humans or monsters about seemed to notice them, and Rupert finally realized that Belial must be keeping them all hidden. But even as an undead, he wasn't so eager to end his life that he would try to force the ghouls to attack them. Then the demon grasped a lever, hidden in a pile of trash, and a staircase suddenly opened up. He blinked as they descended into the pit where, seven long years ago, they had found a piece of a dead priest's body to defeat Mephisto.

Light and the noise of humanity drifted up the stairs as they trekked down into the lair of the smugglers. Several of them bore claw and bite marks from the ghouls, but few seemed worried. One part of the pit had been cordoned off into a cage, steel bars holding in two dozen prisoners.

Everyone in the room suddenly fell silent as Belial's party appeared. Rupert was sure they were still covered by some form of illusion, because none of the slavers reacted to Belial's demonic form, or his slowly decaying body. Finally, one man who looked important stepped forward. "Who the hell are you?"

The demon motioned, and his soldiers marched forward the woman. "We have someone to sell," he said in a reasonable voice. "We're in a bit of a hurry."

The man's eyes seemed to glaze over just a little bit, and he stepped forward, running his hands over the woman, checking her physical health. He grunted, seemingly satisfied, and shoved her towards the pen. They haggled over a price, then the man withdrew a pouch of gold, took out a few coins, and passed the rest to Belial.

As they trooped back up the stairs, Rupert's gaze stayed on the woman being shoved into the cage. As they moved away, the magical spell on her slowly came apart, and she came back to herself, screaming and fighting against her captors. The last thing he saw before his unwilling legs moved him from sight was a guard knocking her unconscious.

* * *

Garou held the chisel carefully, and brought down the hammer with another resounding clank. The chain finally split, though the manacles still lay forged around her arms. Oksana had remained unchanged, her eyes squeezed shut and whimpering, even though her torturers had been dead for over a day now.

Sere came back down the tunnel, carrying a moldy burlap sack. He set it down beside Torture's body with a series of clinks, and Erris looked up. "What's in the sack?" she asked, somewhat confused. He pulled out a metal can, and opened it, the smell of lamp oil filling the room. "What's that for?"

He screwed the lid back onto the can, and dropped it back into the sack. "When we're done here, I'm dumping a few gallons of lamp oil on him and burning this body." He kicked the still body and walked back over to Garou. "How is she?"

The druid fingered the thick iron bands. "I don't know how we'll get these things off her," he growled angrily, dropping the hammer and chisel on the floor. "But she's at least free." He carefully hefted the body, and looked at Erris. "Did you find the ship?"

She nodded, putting her bow over her shoulder. "It's about three miles away, down in a private, covered docking area. Surprisingly good shape, considering how long it's been sitting there." She started down the tunnel back towards the surface. "Come on, let's get Oksana out of here and off this blasted isle." Garou hefted the oblivious assassin, and followed her.

Sere stepped back over to his sack, opening the cans one by one and coating the still form in lamp oil, until the floor for several feet around him was coated in a slippery pool. He backed away, out of the danger zone, and drew a pistol, wiping his hands clean on the sack. "Hope you like a trip to Hell," he muttered, and sighted down the pistol, firing. The bullet struck the stone floor of the cavern, turning it into a sudden inferno.

Torture leaped to his feet, somehow screaming despite his throat still being missing. Sere screamed, leaping back down the tunnel and drawing his other pistol as he retreated. The burning corpse followed him, striding through the pool of oil as his flesh bubbled and melted from his bones. Sere fired again, tearing away part of his face as the demon staggered forward.

In the tunnel, Garou and Erris dropped Oksana to the floor, racing back towards the cavern and preparing for battle. Erris knocked Sere to one side, blasting away with three arrows, knocking Torture back into the burning oil. But still the demon fought his way forward, screeching in the inhuman voice.

Finally Garou grasped the Worldstones set into his armband, and exhaled slowly. A blizzard formed from his mouth, coating the floor with ice and extinguishing the flames. Torture stumbled, tearing one foot free of the ice. His other foot then snapped off in the vicious cold, and the demon fell. Still the druid kept up his assault, until the body had stopped moving completely. When he finally stopped, Sere took aim again, and shattered Torture's head with a bullet.

Every stood back for a moment, staring at the corpse, broken into icy chunks of meat. "What the hell happened?" Erris finally asked.

Sere shook his head. "I lit the bastard on fire. You saw how much oil I had in there. But he just kept coming, even though it was turning him to ashes." He shuddered, dropping the spent pistol back into a holster and turning away. "Let's get out of this hellhole."

They returned to Oksana, carefully passing her body up the ladder into the cloud-covered daylight. Then loading her onto an old handcart, they followed Erris along the weed-strewn streets to the private harbor of the Ferrier family. As she kicked in the door, Ward came limping up through the tall grass. "Are you on your way now?" he asked quietly. "I saw you exit the damned estate from the lighthouse."

Erris nodded tiredly, and looked inside at the ship. "Yes. Diablo was inside, hiding in a cavern beneath the house. We sent him running." She continued to stare off into space for a few moments, then turned back to Ward. "Thank you for the help, lightkeeper. Is there anything we can do in return before we leave?"

He shook his head, gesturing aimlessly with his crippled hand. "Nay, lady, it is good enough to know that something evil has been stopped." He gave a bobbing bow, and backed away. "I have my duties back at the lighthouse, but I wish you a safe journey."

They watched him depart, then entered the giant harbor building. The ship was small, only slightly larger than a nobleman's pleasure yacht. And it was certainly decorated as one. But the supplies were mostly good, and fresh water was easy enough to come by. They fought the harbor door, hinges rusted shut from years of neglect, but it finally opened, letting sunlight enter the building.

Managing a ship was difficult with only three people, but it was out on the open seas before night fell. They sailed around the island, waving to Ward when they saw the beam of light start up against the encroaching night. Then the ship was on its way, back towards Westmarch and, eventually, Kurast.

The next morning, Ward again left his tower, walking slowly across the island. He passed through the village again, turning to stride up the hill. Before long, he stood at the entrance to the Ferrier estate, but turned aside from the main gates, walking around the wall until he found the servant's entrance. The old wooden door had rotted away completely, the rusted latch hanging in place.

The estate looked even more dreary, as thunderclouds gathered in the west, but Ward ignored the signs of the coming rain, walking along the inside of the wall, towards the top of the hill where the estate stood. He reached the top of the hill before noon, stopping in the grass. He knelt down, pushing a tuft of grass aside to reveal the stone beneath. With a sigh, he fell to the ground, and his body dissolved, sinking back into the soft soil beneath. The stone was visible for only a moment, before the wind pushed the grass back into place to hide the name etched on the tombstone:

Ward Ferrier.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Midnight lay thickly across Kurast. Thick mists, like a stifling cold blanket, had crept up onto the city as the sun disappeared, until the patrolling guards could barely see their own feet as they patrolled the cobbled streets. Even the normal night sounds of the city were muffled, echoing oddly from the buildings. At the city's edge, the animals were all still and silent, somehow sensing the dangerous air.

Diablo strode through the streets, and the sleeping humans stirred, sudden nightmares plaguing them. The Zakarum guards convinced themselves of urgent reasons to flee the area, long before the demon would even have been visible. Nightmare floated along at his side, gleefully basking in the aura of fear that his master threw over the city. "We are almost there," he hissed. "I have prepared everything for your arrival."

Merely nodding his great horned head, Diablo stopped at the bridge into Travincal. "Are you certain?" he asked, growling into the night. A flock of birds scattered from a nearby tree, some of them dropping dead of fright before they could escape.

Nightmare contorted himself into a painful looking bow, hissing frantically. "Yes master, I have done everything exactly as you said! The priests are gathered in place tonight for the first of the rituals, exactly as you specified." He shivered, floating back and forth in the air.

Diablo clenched a fist, then strode across the bridge. The stones groaned under his weight, singing their own torture until he reached the center of the great city. Within moments, he stood before the temple. Torches, braziers, and magical lights fought in vain against the clinging fog, and Diablo laughed as he moved in a cloud of reflected crimson light.

The two paladins at the door drew their weapons at the soundless laugh, then one clutched at his throat, falling dead to the ground. His partner opened his mouth to scream, and Nightmare was upon him, stealing into his mouth and stealing his breath. The second guard fell to the ground, dying swiftly as his mind filled with visions of Hell.

Diablo eyed the human-sized door through with a narrowed glance. "Nightmare," he growled, "how am I supposed to reach these priests?"

The shade billowed out of the second paladin, writhing in ecstasy from the dead man's last emotions. "You could destroy the building, master. With your powers, they would never even know you were coming!"

Nightmare suddenly went flying as Diablo's fist crashed into him. "You fool!" he hissed, "I am trying to return to Hell, not bring the second wrath of Tyrael down upon my head!" He turned back to the door, glaring at the intricately carved wood, and concentrated. Ruby lights danced along his scales, and the demonic form began to bleed away. Soon he stood, human once more, somehow still dressed as he was that day in Mephisto's shattered temple.

He bent down, drawing a sword from a dead guard's belt. "Now, move silently. We have only one purpose here." The door swung open with a small nudge from the sword point and he stepped into the holy temple. "Remember that," he growled and started stalking the hallways. Priests, warriors, and servants alike all quailed at his presence, many of them falling dead, even as others dropped to their knees in frantic and ultimately useless prayers.

But the mortals were unimportant to the Lord of Terror. From this close, he could feel the pulse of the shards of corrupted Worldstone, following their call down into the depths of the temple. Nightmare floated at his back, drawing weakly on the humans' fears as they traveled. The last floor of the temple opened before them, and chanting voices could be heard echoing down the hallways.

Grinning darkly, Diablo strode down the hallway almost gleefully. The two guards outside the vault door had turned with weapons ready, but flames burst from his hands, turning them to ashes before they could scream. Then he reached for the great vault doors, and shoved them open.

The Council stood in the middle of the vault, each standing within their own little circle of Worldstone. The five corrupted shards sat in the center of them all, laid out in a cross. The priests all were praying to the angels, oblivious to his presence. He smiled, throwing his magic out at them, only to have it rebound back at him.

Diablo stood there for a moment, shocked, and then growled. His human form slipped away again and he rose, towering over the mortals. Several of them stopped chanting at the sight of him, and he felt their protections waver. He laughed, his voice echoing through the room, and glared down. "I've come for those shards," he said, one great clawed hand pointing.

Sareal drew himself up to his full height, glaring back at the demon. "Begone, Diablo, Lord of Terror! This is a holy temple of the Zakarum church, blessed by Gabriel himself, and you have no place here!" His hand clutched at the holy symbol he wore beneath the ceremonial robes.

Still laughing, Diablo strode forward, like a cat stalking a mouse. Sareal almost stepped back, but held his ground, staring up at the horned head in undisguised dread. "Begone, foul demon! You have no place here!"

"Ah, but you are wrong there, little priest. I was invited. Otherwise, how would I have passed all of those magical wards you have on this pathetic warren?" He paced slowly around the circle, his eyes still on Sareal. "Besides, why do you want to fight me? You can feel their call just as I can."

The priest paled, feeling the sudden draw of the corrupted shards. His eyes dropped to the bruise-colored stones, his ears hearing the words they whispered towards him. Unknowingly, he stepped forward, breaking his circle of protective Worldstone. Diablo laughed viciously as the entire ceremony was disrupted, stepping forward to gather up the magical stones.

Isorn roared, drawing a dagger from his robes and lunging for Diablo's leg. But the demon's massive tail slammed into him, sending him flying to crash into a wall, his head cracking open. Another priest started to chant a spell, only to stop, screaming and clawing at his eyes as Nightmare filled his mind with visions. One by one, they killed the priests, until only Sareal was left. He stood in the open doorway, weaponless but for the holy symbol he clutched.

"No, I won't let you take them," he said frantically. "They aren't yours. They called to me first!" He darted forward, and Diablo picked up him in one massive hand. The demon leaned close, breathing into the priest's face. But even this powerful magic could not break the man's fanaticism. "They're mine!" he cried out, and Diablo dropped him.

Then the demon did something surprising. He held out his other hand, with the five shards glittering darkly. "Do you want to know why they called to you?" he asked quietly. Sareal's eyes were glued onto the stones, and he slowly nodded. "Then take them, and follow me."

Whimpering, the priest took the stones, cradling them to his breast. Diablo arched his back, scales and horns sliding away as his human form emerged again. He started out of the temple complex, walking the passageways and climbing the stairs back towards the outside world.

Through a door, barely open a crack, Wulfe watched the procession pass by. He held a wrinkled hand up to his mouth, stifling a whisper, then eased the door open and followed them from a distance. The fog outside had begun to thin, but he could have followed them in any conditions. Nothing would make him abandon his master.

* * *

Jaresh panted in the hot air. The forest had thinned out quickly, and he went sliding down the hill, scraping himself on the rough sands. That was yesterday. His scrapes hadn't bled, but in the desert air, almost scorchingly hot even in this winter, had him scratching at the scabs until blood ran freely down his arms and legs.

He stumbled over a rock, still running scared. His eyes were wide and wild, darting around desperately. Horror had been left far behind him; in fact, the demon hadn't been following Jaresh since he fled the Monastery. But still he ran, the fevered voices of his imagination more than enough to spur him on.

Ahead, through the hazy hot air, he thought he glimpsed something. But no matter how hard he tried, his fatigued body could manage little better than his continuing shuffle. Then his foot caught on another rock, and he crashed headlong into the sands. Unconsciousness rose and swallowed him whole.

Water, splashing across his lips woke him with a scream. He scrambled away, adrenaline granting him fevered strength. Then he looked up at his rescuer, and the scream died away as he collapsed back onto the sand. Gabriel rose, moving back beside the boy and lifting his head so that he could drink more easily. He gulped eagerly, coughing a little bit from his swiftness. The angel drew back the waterskin, placing a finger against his lips as he reached for it again. "Not too fast, child."

Jaresh drank again, most slowly this time, and sat up on his own, staring in wonder at the winged form before him. "You're an angel," he said, surprised, and Gabriel laughed.

"Of course I am." His wings fluttered lightly behind him, blindingly bright even against the noonday desert sands. "Your parents did us a great favor, so I came here to take you to a safe place."

The boy stared up at him, letting the waterskin drop to the sands. "Will I get to see them again?" he asked solemnly.

Gabriel rose, drawing Jaresh to his feet and taking the boy into his arms. He leaped into the air, his wings carrying them up into the sky. "Not for while, Jaresh," he murmured. Behind them, on the sands, the small body faded away as they left the mortal world behind.

* * *

Jezebel looked up from her plate as Cody entered the room. The men were not quite as fast as she, but then, her magical senses were far more acute in the midst of his hotel. Every square inch of the building had illusion spells worked into it, so much that even she wasn't sure whether the ramshackle hut, or the fancy mansion, or something else entirely, was the real thing.

She lowered her fork, putting the omelet back on her plate, feeling disappointed. The taste was almost certainly illusion, but his table was still the best she'd ever found. "Cody, what is it?"

He leaned against the doorframe. "I've got some interesting gossip you might be interested in hearing," he said quietly. "Apparently, for a few weeks now, every member of the Council has been plagued by nightmares. Not all on the same night," he waved a hand airily, "but every single Council member for sure.

"On top of that," he chuckled, walking towards the buffet spread on a side table, "some of the servants reported seeing a shadow or specter in the room when they awoke." He picked up an apple, polishing it briefly against his shirt before taking a bite. "Mmm, these are always delicious this time of the year.

Larzuk shifted irritably, and Tharos put a hand on his arm to restrain him. "What does this shadow have to do with us?"

Cody smiled and dropped into a chair, one leg dangling over the arm. "Ah, here's where it gets interesting. Last night, this shadow supposedly floated through the main Zakarum temple in Travincal, following some unknown warrior who killed people through fear simply from his passing." He took another bite as the statement flashed understanding across their faces.

"That seems almost certain to be Diablo. The man and shadow were seen about an hour later, exiting the temple. Following them, carrying five shards of dark Worldstone, was Sareal."

"The high priest," Jezebel muttered angrily. "We really did arrive in town just in time." She pushed away her plate, her appetite suddenly gone. "Where did they go?"

Cody shrugged, spitting an apple seed into his hand. "I only collect gossip, not cast divinations about the Prime Evils. They headed south, into the jungle." He stared up at the painted ceiling for a moment. "I can make a guess of three places they could have gone. The ruined temples of Inarius and Mephisto lie to the south, months of walking. But Diablo could simply portal there, I think. Or, he needs something in the city of Viz-Jun, now captured and controlled by the Zakarum."

She sighed and closed her eyes, thinking hard. "Fine, then we've got to find a ship to take us up the river until we reach Viz-Jun and try to figure out what Diablo wants before he gets there." She rose from the table, the others following her. "How much will you give us for these, Cody?"

Jezebel drew two large shards of Worldstone from a pouch at her belt, and Cody gasped. One piece was almost six inches long and two wide, the largest piece he had ever seen. The other was three inches across, a perfect sphere and the purest shade of cherry red he had ever seen. "I'll give you five thousand for them," he said calmly.

Tharos snorted. "Each, you mean. I may have been living in a rural farming village for the last seven years, but I know the worth of Worldstone, especially pieces like that." They stared at each other for a moment before Cody nodded his head. Ron Bars collected the money from him, and Jezebel reluctantly gave up the incredible shards.

Collecting their few possessions, they left the inn, heading for the docks at a brisk walk. Cody watched them go, silently chewing on his apple. About the time he finished, the chime at the front door sounded, and he walked that direction. Boris and Natalya stood there, the illusion of the ramshackle building still in place - for them, at least. "Ah, Boris, so nice of you to bring the fair Natalya to meet me!"

She scowled at him, and he shrugged. "Boris said you had information for us. Spill it."

He raised an eyebrow at her, and she glared further, her fingers flexing. "Please, dear lady, no violence here. I had training at your school as well as with the magical arts." He smiled at her, and they matched stares for several moments. "I do have information for you, but unless you call off this ridiculous toughness contest, I won't give it to you."

Natalya almost stormed out, but she would have had to walk around Boris. And since he was standing in the doorway, and had a hand carefully behind her back to prevent her from drawing her weapons, she was a bit stuck. "Fine. Let's talk."

Cody sighed, dropping into the chair behind the counter. "The short version, then. Last night, Diablo walked into the Zakarum temple. The high priest, Sareal, followed him out, carrying the five corrupted Shards and acting like a slave to the demon. They headed south, and some of your heroic friends who fought him before followed."

She straightened in surprise. "Boris said he knew some of them were in town. Which ones?"

Cody raised a hand, and summoned an illusion of the faces as he said their names. "Jezebel, the sorceress and founder of a formal magic university. Tharos, the necromancer turned farmer. Ron Bars, the valiant barbarian warrior and traveler. And Larzuk, who was the blacksmith of Harrogath during their siege, to leave and help his lover Rupert rebuild Tristram."

Natalya actually rocked back on her heels at that. "His lover?" she asked incredulously. Cody just smiled, and she shook her head to try and remove the image. "How long have they been gone?"

"Oh, you probably passed them in the street," he said airily. "They're catching a boat up-river to Viz-Jun. You should hurry if you're going to catch them." He then picked up the dusty book, and ignored everything further that either of them had to say. Finally Natalya kicked Boris in the shin to make him move, and stormed outside.

They paced down the street, Boris limping after her. "The nerve of that, that, mage!" she growled. "What makes him think he's so important to us anyway?"

Boris grabbed her by the shoulder, and she spun around, hands on her hilts before she realized what she was doing. "Damnit, Natalya, I like this less than you do. But it's the first hint we've gotten in weeks of haunting the sewers and jungles of Kurast. We now know Diablo's been controlling the Council all along. He sent those paladins after Viz-Jun. Now we've got a chance for revenge."

She took several deep breaths, letting the foot traffic of the slums move around them. "Fine, you're right. But there's no need for anyone else to go with us. The others will need to take care of the students."

Boris looked aggravated for a moment, but finally nodded. "Alright. It'll take them some time to find a boat traveling upriver, so we have time for me to get some more supplies."

Natalya groaned, putting a palm against her face. Then she grabbed one of her weapons, snagging the hand reaching for her belt purse with the other. Before she could say anything, Boris had lifted the thief off the ground, and hurled him into the side of a building. He scampered off, eyes wide with fear. "Was that necessary?" He shrugged. "And do you really need those supplies?"

He blinked at her, surprised. "Of course. Mostly because I don't know what we'll be getting into, if we run into the Lord of Terror. Best to be prepared for anything." She groaned again, muttering something about his dastardly contraptions, as they walked towards the giant bazaar.

Back in the hotel, Cody chuckled. His book showed them, their words appearing above their heads. With a sigh, he turned to the front page, and picked up a quill. It scratched on the page as he wrote, words appearing in silver light, even without ink. _I have sent them along as you asked, he wrote. Are you sure this is the wisest course of action?_

The words swirled away, reforming as his reply. _Yes,_ they said, _it seems the greatest possibility for success. I cannot allow Diablo to complete his plan._ Cody sighed, closing the book and setting it back on the counter.

* * *

Baal sat on his throne in Hell, surrounded by a lake of lava. It was simple enough to move the flames around when he needed to consult with his demonic followers, but at the moment, he needed the privacy it provided. The cave was filled with it, the passageways blocked off by rivulets. Then the bright light appeared, and Gabriel stepped out.

He looked down at the lava, floating barely an inch above its surface, and smiled. "Feeling a little paranoid, Baal?" he asked quietly. The demon scowled, one hand tightening and rending the tortured flesh of his throne. "So, what could possibly be so important that you would call me here under a flag of truce?"

He resettled his bulk in the chair, sizing up the angel. Physically, he looked weak. The wings of light were fragile and ephemeral, and his frame was scarcely larger than a human. By comparison, he stood twice as high, and looked like a being designed for killing and destruction. Yet in an even battle, he was unsure which of them would win. "You know of Belial's plan," he said quietly.

Gabriel inclined his head, pacing back and forth above the lava on sandaled feet. "You mean his plan to keep Diablo locked in the mortal world and use your corrupted Worldstone for his own plans." He laughed a little bit as Baal's scowl deepened. "Do you take me for a fool? Of course I know."

"I propose a more lengthy truce," Baal said smoothly. "Let there be no battles between us until Diablo is back here in Hell where he belongs." He held out one taloned hand as though to shake.

Gabriel shook his head, still smiling. "For the second time, I must ask, do you take me for a fool? Diablo's plan to return would set forth thousands of demons in the mountains south of Viz-jun. Belial would leave the world under a cloud of darkness for years to come. Surely you don't expect us to merely sit back and allow either outcome to happen," he mocked.

Baal leapt to his feet, hands clenching angrily. "Then be gone from here before I withdraw my offer of truce and tear you to pieces!" Sighing, Gabriel opened another portal and disappeared, stepping back through to Heaven.

* * *

Sere slid down the rope, landing easily on the deck. "Ok, let's try it now!" he called out tiredly. Seizing a different rope, he and Garou pulled on the sail. It billowed out with the wind, the mast creaking in protest. But the ship started to turn with it, exactly as intended. "Finally!" he said, walking towards the ladder below decks. Erris gave him a weak smile from her place at the wheel.

Garou followed him, and they stopped in the darkness for a few swallows of watered wine. "How much longer do you think we have to keep this up?" the druid asked quietly. "I mean, we've been out here for almost three days. I wouldn't expect nobility to put their vacation homes so far away from the comforts of home." He took the bottle back for another swig.

"Well, we're not heading straight for the coast. The best harbor, and place to find crew, is south." He wet a finger and sketched on the wood. "Here's the coast, and the island." He poked the wood, leaving a small smear where they had wrecked. "We're heading here," and he marked another spot along the wet line.

The druid nodded as he looked at the map. "So we're what, here?" He put a finger on the wall, and Sere corrected him. "We'll get there tomorrow?"

"Yeah, we should, anyway. Land would be in sight tonight, I think." He shrugged. "It'll be my turn at the wheel then, so I'm going to get some sleep." He started to turn away when Garou grabbed his shoulder.

"Can you help me bring Oksana up on the deck?" Garou shrugged. "The sunlight might help her."

Sere sighed, looking doubtful. "If magical healing hasn't done any good, what makes you think sunlight will?" He shook his head, and stepped over to the door of her cabin anyway. "Ah, what the hell. It can't hurt, right?"

Oksana lay on the small fold-down bed, murmuring fearfully, still trapped in whatever nightmares she had started. They had managed to force some soup broth down her throat every day, but the extra fat from her pregnancy was rapidly vanishing. If the sunlight, or whatever healers they could find, did nothing to help her, she would be dead within a few weeks.

They carefully lifted her, carrying her and handing her up the ladder onto the deck. The clouds had rushed back, leaving the day dismal and gray. The two men laid her out on the deck anyway, leaning back against coils of rope and watching the endless swells of water, lost in their own thoughts. They fell asleep then, letting the day slide past.

Sere awoke for his watch, wearily climbing the stairs to take control of the wheel. Erris gratefully descended into the cabins, pausing only to smile at her oblivious friends. The seas stayed calm, and the skies clouded, and the ship continued onward. There was no name carved into the bow, as was customary, and he idly considered several names.

Finally, dawn came with a brightening of the clouds, and land was visible. He blinked in surprise, realizing that they were much closer than he assumed. Garou awoke, rising and stretching sore limbs, staring at the shoreline. Then he pointed, asking loudly, "What is that?"

Extending down to the shore was possibly the foulest city the druid had ever seen. The buildings were almost all a uniform, dingy shade of greenish-gray, giving it the color and appearance of a festering wound. Hanging above the city was a foul brown haze, obscuring the hills behind the city. Ships could be seen at the city docks, giving the sea side a ramshackle appearance.

With a dour frown, Sere sighed. "That," he called down, "is the quite misnamed city of Haven." He said nothing further, not until Garou had turned around, stalking up to the tiny bridge.

"You intend for us to find a replacement crew there?" He pointed at the city, his voice incredulous. "I doubt we could set foot off this ship before it would be stolen right from under us!"

Sere sighed again. "I know a few people who owe me favors. One of them owns the docks. Trust me, if anything from our ship goes missing, it'll be back in under a day."

Garou spluttered for a moment. "What were you ever doing in a place like this? I thought you were a better person than that!"

The druid stepped back as Sere reached for a pistol, then calmed his hand. "For your information," he said quietly, "I grew up in that city. My father gave up his captaincy after he lost both legs in an accident, and he owns - or at least, he did last time I was here - a tavern called Baal's Arse." His voice softened a little bit. "That city looks like hell, but we can find a few good sailors to help us. That I'm sure of."

Garou stared at the city again, reminded of the blasted, demon-haunted city he had trekked through in Hell on his quest against Diablo. This city was alive, thronging with people, yet he couldn't quite shake the feeling that it was more dangerous a place than even Hell itself. As if to mirror his thoughts, the sky grew darker as they approached. By the time they reached the docks, with a few grubby workers to help tie the ship in place, a cold, drizzling rain had started.

Sere stepped off the dock, breathing in the air, thick with the stenches of rotting fish and moldy wood. "Home," he whispered softly, almost disappointed. With Garou following him, and Erris staying to guard the ship, they started into the city.

* * *

Rupert grunted as Arkas hefted another pack onto his back. Part of him should have felt angry about being used as nothing more than a pack mule, but for weeks, every since that first night he had been confronted with his undeath, he had been empty of all emotion. He briefly thought of the other woman, lying unconscious in the cabin, covered in wounds where he had fed on her, and felt nothing. He felt worse about his lack of emotion than he did about the sins he had committed.

Then Arkas slapped him on the back, and they started off through the jungle. Viz-jun had come and passed as they kept sailing upriver, anchoring and hiking back to keep some measure of stealth, he supposed. Mosquitoes and other greedy insects clustered on his exposed flesh, but he ignored them. Branches and vines dragged across his face, catching briefly in the packs, but those too were ignored.

Rupert simply walked along, following Arkas, who followed his demonic master. Every day, he thought he was becoming more like the mindless monsters he had fought against, and briefly the thought occurred that undead turned evil due to their pain-filled existence. Then lights began to appear through the leaves, and his eyes followed them dully.

Belial stopped, still behind a concealing line of foliage. "He will be here shortly," he whispered. "Diablo will go straight for the paladin's main encampment and the cache of Worldstone still there." He looked at the packs Rupert held. "As long as we switch enough of it first, everything should work out."

The demon sighed, raising his arms, and Rupert felt the invisibility spell drop over them. They passed through the streets of the city, unnoticed by the patrolling guardsmen and the occasional citizen, up late after sundown. Everything was quiet and still, the haunting silence of an occupied, oppressed people.

Then something caught Rupert's ear, calling to what little curiosity he had left. He listened intently, waiting for the sound to come again, and after a few moments, the child's sob repeated itself. He looked around, gazing around Arkas and Belial, before spotting the child and soldier in a dark corner between two houses. The boy had been gagged, and the soldier was methodically breaking his fingers.

Rupert turned, anger stirring within him. The weight of the packs was completely unnoticed as he approached, raising his hand unconsciously. Light poured from his hand suddenly, as it had once done with his paladin powers. The soldier cowered back, raising his hands to shield his face from the apparently sourceless light. Tearing the gag away, the boy looked at his hand in shock as the joints healed. Dropping his weapons, the soldier fell to his knees, pressing his forehead to the stones and praying.

Then the light died, as Belial grabbed Rupert, swinging him roughly around. "What do you think you're doing, foolish slave?" he hissed. Rupert's body suddenly jerked away, continuing down the road with Belial angrily pacing before him. For the first time in weeks, Rupert's mind was filled with chaotic thoughts. His powers had come at his call - but he had not felt them. Always before, when the angelic power coursed through him, he had felt its touch on his soul. But this time, nothing. The light had come, but it had not come through him.

His heart heavy, Rupert scarcely noticed when they reached the encampment, passing within inches of the oblivious guards, opening locked doors without any awareness of the paladin guards. Then Belial was smiling down at a trio of large, locked chests. "Quickly," he hissed to his servants, "change as much of this Worldstone for those harmless rocks as you can."

Rupert lowered the packs, and they started switching the stones back and forth. Belial's fakes looked exactly the same, and Arkas commented on the tingling sensations all of them left in his hands. As they finished with the first chest, a sudden commotion came from outside. Belial hissed, and they scooped up the packs, ducking outside and into an adjoining building.

Diablo came striding confidently through the encampment. Nightmare flitted around his head, Horror slurping lazily along digesting a body. Sareal still stumbled along behind the demon. He was turning gaunt, his ceremonial robes hanging in filthy tatters around his body, and his eyes were a blazing darkness like the shards he carried.

Paladins and soldiers were struck down by demonic magic, and soon enough the Lord of Terror stood before the chests of Worldstone. He tore the front of the building away, stacking the chests together and lifting them easily. With a dark laugh, he reached out to open a portal.

But the magical doorway went wild. The scene within flickered rapidly, and the shape swam, pulsating and changing with every second. Diablo howled in outrage, trying to steady it against the overwhelming effects from the giant cache of magical energy he held in the chests. Finally, he roared, closing the portal.

Everything was quiet around the encampment for several minutes. "Nightmare," the great demon hissed, "travel forth on our path. Scout out the way to the ruined temple, where we can finish this ritual, and return to me." The shade danced happily, vanishing quickly into the shadows. Then Diablo turned, overturning a cart to empty it, and placed the chests within. "Come, Horror, Sareal. We have a very long journey before us."

Belial and his two servants watched them depart, quietly fuming in their hiding place. But the Lord of Lies rallied after a moment, and turned back. "We must return to the ship. He has more Worldstone than I had hoped, but we have enough." He started off, taking a different path, eager to avoid any confrontation with his brother.

Rupert watched the encampment as they left, staring at the still and unmoving bodies that Diablo had left in his wake, but no matter how he tried, he could not summon and pity or sorrow for his fallen brethren.

* * *

Jezebel looked over the broken compound under the bright noonday sun. They had reached Viz-Jun that morning, only bare hours behind Diablo, to find the paladin encampment torn apart, dead bodies laying where they had fallen. Not a soul moved in the city any longer apart from them, and even the scavengers and carrion birds had not appeared, though the bodies had been ripening in the sun for hours.

Tharos waved a wand over another corpse, and nodded. "Diablo was definitely here. Some of these people simply died from being in close proximity to him. Others died from some other demon, probably a servant of his." The two barbarians stayed on lookout, weapons held ready and waiting. "But what was he looking for?"

Then they all turned, hearing the tramp of booted feet. Up an avenue, from the direction of the docks, came three dozen soldiers. Two paladins, one with swiftly graying hair, led the march. The two groups stopped, eyeing each other warily across twenty feet of deserted city. "You're Tharos, Jezebel, Larzuk, and Ron Bars. I recognize your pictures from the sketches the Council passed around when they wanted you captured." He looked past them at the compound, looking over the bodies, crumpled where the demonic magic took them. "Did you do all of this?" he asked harshly.

Ron snorted in annoyance. "If we had killed all of these people, there would be wounds from our weapons. Diablo did this. We're trying to track him down." He looked pointedly at one corpse, dressed proudly in the junior paladin uniform. "Though it doesn't look like even your paladin powers helped much."

The younger paladin stepped forward angrily, only to be restrained. "As much as I don't want to admit it, you're correct. Diablo killed all of the Council, and we knew he left southward." He stared over the encampment. "I suppose you might as well help us search. This was where he came, for whatever reason."

A little surprised, they fell in with the soldiers, and started searching the compound. The older paladin went straight for one building, where the demon had torn away the face. He sighed heavily, shaking his head. "Damn, he went for the Worldstone cache here."

Tharos frowned, turning to look at the paladin. "But that doesn't make any sense."

Ron shrugged. "Why not? I mean, even with his own powers, Diablo probably needed the shards for something important. Maybe he plans to make more of them corrupted."

He shook his head violently, smacking a fist against his leg. "That's not what I mean. Why this Worldstone?" He glanced at the paladin. "I mean, I bet they had enough pieces in Travincal to build a life-size statue of Diablo, and there couldn't have been that much in this building."

"True. They had almost a whole room full of it in Travincal," the paladin said. "There was only three small chests full here. We had been transporting it, one chest at a time, back to Travincal." He sighed heavily, one hand unconsciously rubbing the scepter hanging at his hip. "Are you truly serious about hunting down Diablo and stopping him?"

Larzuk chuckled sarcastically. "Why not? They did it before."

"My name is Colin," he said, offering his hand to the heroes. "If you need something, anything, I'll do my best to get it for you."

"But what about the Council's orders?" the younger paladin asked, a little angrily. "Are you just going to ignore everything they told us?"

"Look, Will, the Council is dead! And all the reports say that Sareal, the leader of our Council, was working with Diablo the whole time!" He clenched a fist, then slowly lowered it. "You brought me the rumors about Rupert's victory, meaning that they've had the right idea all along," he waved a hand towards Jezebel and the others. "So, as the highest ranking paladin still alive, that makes me the temporary Council. And they're getting our help."

From the roof of a nearby building, Natalya and Boris watched silently, well hidden from any prying eyes, as they all discussed what needed to be done. "Well, this is a bad turn of events," Boris muttered quietly. "But I still have to wonder if the necromancer is right - what else was here in Viz-Jun that Diablo needed?"

She shook her head. "Right now, that's not as important. You heard the paladin down there. They were acting under orders from Diablo's servant. So he's the one responsible for the death of all our friends." She then chuckled. "Of course, at least we know where he's going."

Boris looked surprised, turning a little to look at her. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh come on, we saw the path he cut through the jungle, heading south." She smirked. "It was a theory that too much Worldstone, concentrated in one spot, could affect magical spells. So obviously, the demon is carrying so much he can't portal to his chosen spot."

Boris nodded suddenly with understanding. "Either Mephisto's temple, or Inarius' cathedral." He shook his head sadly. "But Diablo doesn't have to stop and rest."

Natalya shrugged. "If we stow away on board their ship again, we'll be going faster upriver than Diablo can walk. And besides, don't forget his human Council slave."

Still whispering quietly, they disappeared from the building, travelling through the abandoned streets to the docks.

* * *

The building towered up at the street level. Set back behind a row of warehouses was the ship. At least, it mostly looked like a merchant ship had been picked up, and dropped into the middle of a building. The bottom of the ship had been removed, replaced with the rather normal front of a tavern, complete with a few tables set onto a porch outside the door. Appetizing smells warred with the stenches of the docks and warehouses.

Garou blinked up at the ship. The masts were still in place, though no sails hung on the bare wood. And a few patrons were standing up on deck, talking with drinks in their hands. "This is your father's tavern?" he asked incredulously.

Sere chuckled, lifting his hat to smooth back his hair. "There was a bad storm, and the ship got dumped on shore where a brothel had been washed away. He bribed the right person, and they let him keep it here and turn it into a tavern." With a sigh, he pushed up to the doors and stepped into the crowd of people. Garou followed him like a shadow, despite his apprehension at the city and its inhabitants.

People swarmed inside, eating and drinking, making deals and playing at dice and cards, and a number of other things that were illegal in most other parts of the world. Sere had to push his way to the bar, using elbows and feet simply to move through the crush. He never remembered the tavern being quite this busy, but he'd also done his best to stay out of it.

At the bar, pouring out mugs of wine, was a familiar, bald man, with a nasty scar across his forehead, and Sere's heart sank with recognition. Then he looked up, noticed the brightly decked captain, and shouted. "Sere!" The shout was definitely not friendly, and patrons all around the bar quieted down in expectation. He set down the mugs, some still unfilled, and walked around the bar. "So good of you to finally drop by, boy."

Keeping his face calm, Sere tipped his hat in a salute. "Hello, Bowley," he said. "Where's my dad?"

He laughed, one thumb hooked into his belt, the hand comfortably close to a nasty cudgel. "He's dead, lad. Died last winter of a broken heart, after he got too far into his wine and lost the tavern to me on a roll of the dice." Bowley leaned back comfortably against the bar. "But surely, lad, you've got time for a little pleasant company now that you've come home?"

Sere raised an eyebrow, a disgusted smirk on his face. "You must have changed, Bowley. I surely thought I was too grown up for your tastes."

The bald man scowled in anger, stepped forward. "Bowser, kill!" he said, and the crowd scrambled backwards as a wolfhound jumped up onto the bar. The animal stood almost five feet tall at the shoulder, and outweighed any two people in the tavern combined. It growled, staring at Sere, and then leaped.

Before he could draw a pistol, Garou had stepped in front of him, hands out. He caught the dog in midair, both hands locked around Bowser's throat. The dog growled, and Garou roared back. Bottles and mugs fell from the rack behind the bar, several people fell from their chairs, and everyone grabbed for something stable as the entire building shook.

Then Garou dropped the dog, and he cowered at his feet, tail between his legs, whining. "I don't know who the hell you are," Garou said calmly, "and I really don't care. But the next time you threaten me or my friends, I'll tear your head off and feed you to my dogs."

Bowley scowled, yanking the cudgel from his belt. "I'll send you to hell," he said angrily, lunging forward and swinging.

But Garou caught the cudgel, squeezing hard. The wood started to crack as he started to shift into his werewolf form. "Been there," he growled angrily. "But you'd be staying permanently." Splinters fell from his hand as the frightened bartender scampered backwards.

Sere laughed, jumping up onto a table. "Now listen up, you scalawags," he said loudly. "We're looking for a few good sailors to help sail our ship east to stop Diablo. Anyone who lives through it will probably have their names immortalized in songs for a few lifetimes. Our ship is at the docks, with a very irritable Amazonian beauty standing guard, so wait there until we get back."

He jumped down and headed for the door. Garou followed, and to their surprise, so did Bowser. Outside, in the far less crowded street, Garou pushed down the last of his animal side, and sighed. "Ok, so we'll have a crew waiting for us. Now what?"

Sere looked up at the hill behind the city. "One of the best healers in the world moved up there a few years ago. So now we go see him, and find out if he's got anything that can help bring Oksana back from her torture session." Grimly, he started through the streets. Garou glanced down at Bowser, but the giant dog merely whined a little. With a friendly scritch, they started after him, people hurriedly moving out of the way at the sight of a half-ton carnivore and his masters.

It took them the better part of two hours to navigate through the city and reach the top of the hill. As Sere explained on the way, the people of Haven were notorious for being cheapskates. Buildings often collapsed due to bad weather and no repairs, or were torched with ease, and then the new buildings constructed never quite matched the same streets. The dust from thousands of milling people blended with the sooty haze over the city, until Garou wished quite heartily that his nose would simply fall off.

But finally, they stood before the building. It was a rather plain stone tower, four stories tall at the most. The iron-bound door was quite firmly closed, and carved into it were the words, "Go away!" Sere banged on the door anyway, and they waited, but no one answered. "This is where Miracle Max lives," he said.

Garou raised an eyebrow, looking up at the thin slit windows on higher stories. "What kind of a name is Miracle Max?" Bowser snuffled and curled up in the grass next to the path.

"Heck if I know," he replied. "He never went by any name. That's just what people started calling him." He banged on the door again. "I wonder if he's even still in there?"

Chuckling, the druid started to climb the outside of the tower. The stones were rough, and easy to get a grip, and soon he was staring into a library on the second floor. A table sat under the window, with several books lying open. "There's no dust on anything," he called down, so someone is still here."

He kept climbing up to another story, and peeked in the window, only to come face to face with the tower's inhabitant. They both yelled in surprise, and Garou almost slipped from his perch. "Go away!" sounded again from inside, and he cursed, climbing back down.

"Damnit, come down here and open this door, Lysander!" he yelled back up at the window. Sere frowned at him, looking back and forth between the druid and the upper window.

"Absolutely not! Leave me alone!" came the voice again.

He pounded on the door. "This is important, Lysander! Oksana could die without your help, and you sure seemed willing to lend a hand when we needed it in Lut Gholein!" He kicked at the door, then hopped around for a moment wincing at the pain in his foot. Bowser, thinking this meant playtime, rolled on his back in the grass.

Clattering feet echoed from inside the tower, then the front door burst open, almost knocking Sere down. "I am not Lysander!" he yelled angrily. "Now I don't care who you are, but go away and leave me in peace!"

He tried to close the door again, but Sere had quickly wedged a rock in place to hold it open. Garou snarled, limping forward. "If you're not Lysander, then who the hell are you?"

The old man glared at him for a moment, then his face crumbled, and he turned slowly away. "I'm Locandrus. Lysander was my twin brother." Sharing a worried glance, they followed him inside, gathering around a small table while the old man poured himself a cup of tea.

"I got the news about two weeks ago. He was trying to catch some little cutpurse, and slipped in the street, brained himself good. I just haven't been able to work since then." He stared into the cup for a moment, then took a long sip. "You said he helped you once?"

Garou nodded. "My friends and I helped free the desert from the demons Diablo brought there on his quest to free his brother."

Locandrus nodded slowly. "Ah yes. He sent me a few letters about you and your friends while you were there." He drained the cup and set it gingerly on the table. "So what's wrong with your friend?"

Sere leaned back. "She got captured by Diablo and tortured. She was pregnant before the demon started in on her. Now she won't wake up."

They all sat there for several moments in silence, then Locandrus leaped to his feet. He almost dashed up the winding stairs, and they could hear bottles clattering together upstairs. When he reappeared, he held a battered leather satchel in one hand, and a floppy straw hat on his head. "Well, let's get going then!"

Garou and Sere shared a nervous glance as they rose from the table. "Are you sure about this?" the captain asked.

"Nope," he admitted cheerfully, "but I think I've spent enough time moping around this old tower. After all, if I'm not careful, I'll just sit in here wasting away, and my brother will be very mad when I get to Heaven!" He started out the door, whistling cheerfully.

Doing their best to ignore their misgivings about his chances, they followed him back to the ship.

A remarkably large crowd of sailors was waiting for them when they finally returned to the docks. Locandrus had stopped by at least a half dozen small shops and stalls along the way, haggling for what seemed like an eternity for several items they could see no possible use for. Sere stared at the group of at least thirty sailors, and shook his head in wonderment.

They forced their way through the crowd and up the gangplank. Erris stood there, looking rather furious, an arrow held ready on her bow. "What took you so long? Who are these people?" Bowser bumped against her leg, and she almost fell over. "And why didn't you tell Garou not to pick up any more pets?"

Sere chuckled and took off his hat. "These are our new crew," he said calmly. "Of course, we'll have to whittle it down somewhat, but that shouldn't be a problem." He leaped up onto the rail, clearing his throat loudly. The sailors below slowly stopped their conversations, staring up at him.

While he talked to the crew, sounding outlandish in his portrayals of the threats they would undoubtably face tracking down Diablo, Garou led Locandrus below decks to the room Oksana rested in. He puttered around for several minutes, feeling her face and arms, and pulling out a few small, brightly colored stones that he pressed again different spots on her body. "Well?" Garou finally asked.

He looked up amused, and waggled his fingers. "Don't rush me, sonny. You rush a miracle man, you get rotten miracles." He chuckled as though it were a joke, then pulled out a small copper tube from his satchel, and listened at one end as he pressed it against her chest. "Yep, just as I thought."

Garou waited a moment, then prompted him impatiently. "What is it? Can you cure her?" Bowser, laying down in the small hallway, whined.

Locandrus tossed the tube back into his satchel, and shook his head. "Nope. I don't need to. She's been cursed, you see." He looked back down at the unconscious assassin, still muttering nonsense in her delirium. "She's not single, is she?"

He frowned, looking irritated. "She's married, has a son, and her husband is a necromancer. Now what are you talking about?"

The old man sighed, hefting his satchel. "Diablo cursed her with this spell of, well, nightmares, sort of. All she needs is to be in direct sunlight for a few seconds." He tried to push out of the door, but Bowser refused to budge. "Would you please have your pet wolf move out of my way?"

The dog huffed, sounding vaguely insulted, but backed down the hallway and leaped up the ladder again. Locandrus followed more slowly, and Garou latched the door behind him. "How are we going to find sunlight around here?" he asked disgustedly. "This whole city is under some foul haze."

"Ah yes, the coal smoke. It burns hotter than wood, you see, so they mine it out of the mountains." He dropped his satchel at the top of the ladder. "Whew! Didn't realize this was quite so steep. Anyway, sail out for a day or two, and you'll be fine."

Garou emerged onto the deck, glancing around. Fourteen sailors were pulling at the ropes, and the sails raised and lowered. Sere was shouting orders from somewhere up in the rigging, and Locandrus hurried back onto dry land before the gangplank was drawn up. He stood on the dock, waving lazily as the ship started to drift out of the harbor. As it vanished from sight, he muttered, "They need all the help they can get," and turned away to return to his tower.

On deck, the two heroes watched the sailors expertly work under the experienced captain. One of them lugged a new coil of rope up from the hold below the cabins, talking excitedly with his fellows as the wind picked up. The air smelled fresh after the tainted haze over Haven, and Garou smiled as he watched the waves vanish behind them.

From the rocks ahead of them, a ship appeared. Her sails were black, and flag of three bloody bones flew at the top of her mast. The sailors started to panic, and even Sere paled at the sight of the flag. "What is it," Erris asked him, a pair of arrows ready on her bow. "Who's that?"

With a shaking hand, Sere caressed one of his pistols. "That's the flag of Inigra, the most infamous pirate to ever sail the waters west of Kingsport," he said. The pirate ship was at least three times larger than theirs, and probably had that many more sailors as well. "We're doomed," he said simply.

But to their surprise, the faster ship did not ram them, as was expected. She pulled up alongside, tying down masts to match speed with them. "Sere!" came a familiar voice from the ship, and he moved to the rail, Erris and Garou beside him. Bowley's bald head could easily be seen on the deck, surrounded by a crew of eager pirates. "I knew I'd see you out here," he taunted.

"You always did have lousy timing, Bowley," Sere called back fearlessly. "When did you become a pirate? I'm surprised Inigra would take you on! I mean, doesn't it sully his reputation?"

While they traded insults back and forth, Garou had stepped back from the rail, putting one arm around Bowser's neck. "Help me focus, boy," he said quietly, and the dog responded by licking his hand. The druid closed his eyes, concentrating hard while the dog watched the other ship.

"I'm here for you, Sere. Inigra promised me I could have you as a slave in exchange for this lovely nobleman's yacht you stole," Bowley shouted back. "You'll be mine again, you rotten little freak!"

He feigned surprise, leaning back and pulling off his hat. "Me, a freak? I'm not the one who took children to his bed instead of women, Bowley." The pirates on the other ship could be seen jostling each other, suddenly less sure of their passenger. "But then, you never were man enough to challenge anyone fairly," he continued to taunt.

The bald man roared in frustration, shouting at the pirates to throw the grappling hooks. But as they swung the ropes in preparation, the sky darkened suddenly, and everyone looked up except Erris. Her arrow took Bowley through the nose a second before the tornado dropped onto the bow of the pirate ship. Men screamed everywhere in fear and pain, as the storm shattered the hull, flinging splinters of wood and rope, and sailors, in every conceivable direction.

Bowser's howl rose even above the storm as the tornado proceeded to pummel the sinking vessel. It quickly fell behind them as Sere shouted orders to his crew, leaping up to take the wheel himself. Finally, they were far enough away that the magical storm dissipated, and Garou opened his eyes. Shaking her head, Erris gave him a pat on the shoulder. "That was impressive."

He chuckled weakly, his eyes red and bloodshot. "I've had a bit of practice with storms," he said. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going downstairs to sleep and watch over Oksana." He looked up at the cloudy sky, slowly clearing in the east. "If the sun comes out, wake me right away."

Erris watched him vanish below decks with the giant wolfhound, and then looked perplexed to the east. "Why the sunlight?" she asked herself quietly, then shook her head and walked toward the bow of the ship to watch the waves.

Behind them, Inigra the sand raider surfaced from the wreckage of his ship. With all four arms, he swam powerfully for the shore, determined to find another ship and get revenge.

* * *

Diablo stopped in a small clearing in the jungle. Sareal dropped to the ground beside him, panting heavily. The demon had been feeding him energy to keep moving, and changes were beginning to work their way on his body. His tongue had forked, his eyes were sliding towards the sides of his face, and his skin was slowly turning to scales. Probably before they reached the cathedral his legs would fuse into a giant snake's tail, he thought.

Horror waited almost silently, only the faint sounds as his flesh constantly rearranged itself, and dripped the endless supply of blood slowly onto the thirsty soil. Then Nightmare reappeared through the trees, and supplicated himself before his master. "The path is clear," he hissed gladly. "Everything is just as you said, master, and prepared for our arrival."

Diablo looked ahead through the trees, picturing the two week hike through the jungles and up into the mountains. "Then we have no time to waste," he growled, and nudged Sareal with his foot. The fallen priest heaved himself back to his feet, and they started through the jungle again.

A hundred miles to the south, Larzuk hacked through another clump of vines. "Are you sure this is the right path?" he asked irritably. Colin just nodded, swinging a machete as well. Twenty soldiers, mostly there to carry supplies, followed behind them. "There isn't any shorter path we can take? That doesn't require cutting down half the jungle to get there?"

Will muttered something under his breath, taking the machete from the older paladin and his turn at the front of the group. "This is the shortest path from the river up to the mountain. And be happy we're going up the side where the cathedral is. Diablo will have to circle partway around."

Tharos grunted, as his two skeletons hacked away as the underbrush. "At least he doesn't have to sleep though. We'll only catch up to him if we're lucky."

Colin chuckled though, readjusting his pack. "Let the angels worry about our luck," he said. "They've never failed us yet," and the conversation died away for a time, the animal sounds of the jungle blending with the rhythmic chopping.

Natalya and Boris followed the cut trail incredibly easily, keeping far enough to the rear that the soldiers were unlikely to notice them.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

They finally reached Kurast after almost two weeks of sailing. Oksana had been brought out on deck the first day after the pirates, and spent the whole time resting and recovering. Garou, Erris, and Sere had spent an entire night listening to her trying to recount the torture session, and the nightmares she had been locked in since they rescued her.

Dockhands pulled the ship up to the wharves of Kurast, and Garou sighed. "Well, if we're not too late, I know one place we can get some information." With Bowser leading happily off the ship, they walked through the streets of the city. The dog drew far more attention than the four of them, mostly from fearful citizens. But soon enough they stood before Cody's ramshackle building. "Welcome to the mage hotel," he said somewhat sarcastically.

Opening the door, he gestured for everyone else to enter, and they looked around in distaste at the rotting wood and dirt floors. Cody sat in his chair, closing the old book slowly. "Garou, you arrived just in time." He rose from his chair, and set the book down on the counter. "You've only got a few minutes, so I hope you are prepared."

Sere looked between the two. "What the blazes are you talking about, man?"

For answer, Cody raised his hands, and opened a silvered portal. Within, they could see a ruined cathedral. Diablo and a snakish demon were forming a circle of Worldstone. "You've got to get there right now and disrupt the ritual." With a cry of rage, Oksana threw herself through the portal, and the others, cursing, followed her quickly.

Sighing, Cody opened the book again, and picked up his quill. _They are on their way,_ he wrote slowly. The words swirled away, and reformed into a single word. _Finally._

* * *

Larzuk reached the top of the plateau and reached down, helping the others to the top. Chanting could be heard from the wreckage of Inarius' cathedral, and Colin shivered. "I had hoped I'd never have to come back here," he said drawing the scepter from his belt. "Come on, let's stop this ritual before it gets started."

Jezebel grabbed his arm before he could go rushing off. "We need to see what he's doing first. No point dying if we don't accomplish anything." She took the lead, drawing the small orb from her own belt and stepping through the shattered doors. The entire building seemed somehow wrong, as though it had been built in a different reality, one completely foreign to humans, and then dropped here.

Diablo and a snakish demon stood in the center of a circle of Worldstone. The magical shards were placed five thick in a circle almost thirty feet across, but it still just barely fit the Lord of Terror. Then Horror gave out a tortured, multi-voiced scream, and charged at them. Jezebel managed to dive out of the way, while several soldiers fought the demon ineffectively.

They were forced outside, but even their enchanted weapons seemed to do little good. Larzuk's hammer smashed the demon backwards repeatedly, but the powerful blows might as well have been used to move the ocean. The paladins danced a mad circle around it, using their scepters to parry while auras of fire and lightning danced around them.

Ron Bars leaped in, swinging his axes and severing a dripping limb. But before he could escape, Horror seized him, drawing the barbarian slowly but irresistibly towards him. He gave a mighty war cry, burying his axes into the ground and holding on for his life, while the others tried to break the powerful hold.

Boris watched from behind a tree for only a moment. "You go into the cathedral," he said, pulling a small contraption from his belt. "I'll handle this damn demon." Natalya gripped his arm for a moment, then dashed towards and through the shattered wall. Boris drew the shadows around him and charged for the demon.

He ducked under Will's arm, hefting the paladin and throwing him away. Colin turned towards him as he dropped the stealth, taking the device and stabbing Horror through an eye. "Duck!" he yelled, tackling the other paladin and narrowly avoiding another taloned swipe. Then his invention clicked, and Horror suddenly bulged.

It screamed, a more tortured noise than when it was caught in the inferno. The demon continued to swell, staggering back and forth, releasing Ron in its frenzied dance. They all backed away, and with a final keen, Horror exploded. "What the hell was that?" Tharos yelled, waving his wand to re-animate his skeletons.

Boris grinned darkly. "It's a chemical I discovered. Harmless until it contacts blood, then it burns rapidly." He turned towards the cathedral, drawing a pair of katars from his belt. "Now come on, we need to stop Diablo!"

Inside the cathedral, Diablo and Sareal prepared the ritual. The priest had been transformed completely; his legs had been replaced by a giant tail, his head had morphed into that of a cobra, and his forked tongue and retractable fangs now made speech almost impossible. But his humanity had fled long before, as the weeks trekking through the jungle listening to the corrupted shards leeched it away. "Time to end this, Diablo," Rupert said.

The demon turned, quite surprised. Rupert's zombification was painfully obvious, but he still held himself tall. "So, you are become my brother's slave," he crooned, wearing a nasty grin upon his face. "Come here on his behalf to steal this power and lock me in your accursed mortal world forever, no doubt."

Rupert inclined his head slightly. "I would have been here regardless." The other four, followed closely by the paladins and the remaining soldiers piled in the door then, stopping short at the sight of him. "Hello, my friends," he said sadly. "Once I'm done, kill me. It may stop Belial as well." Then he ran for the circle.

Diablo laughed at him. "This is a circle of magical protection, you cannot pass -" He cut off as Rupert barreled through the Worldstone, scattering the red shards and slamming into Sareal. They both scrambled for the corrupted shards, until Diablo picked up the paladin, lifting him high in the air and slamming him brutally into the ground, then kicking him away.

He lay against a wall, fallen and still. Everyone watched the proceedings silently, even Natalya and Belial, hidden by their respective powers. Sareal gathered up the shards, then started to scream. Instead of five, there were now eight. His eyes flicked back and forth and he tossed them from hand to hand, screaming as he tried to distinguish the real shards from Belial's illusory ones. Finally he raised his hands as though entreating, and started slashing his face with the shards.

Callously, Diablo slammed the priest to the floor, and then the silvery portal opened and the other heroes were there. Sere was the first to attack, his pistol belching flame and a bullet shattering the tip of a horn. Nightmare swooped forward, but Tharos' magic froze the shade in place, and the battle was fully joined. Despite his awesome power, the demon was outnumbered by foes who knew his weaknesses.

The only one not joining the melee was Larzuk. He rushed to the other side of the cathedral, kneeling down beside Rupert's battered body. "Oh, sweet angels in Heaven," the blacksmith muttered, "what have they done to you?"

Rupert opened his eyes, gazing up painfully, still aware due to his undeath. "Finish me, please," he groaned out. "End my torment, my love." Larzuk nodded, tears in his eyes, and raised the hammer. Then Arkas stepped out from behind a pillar, throwing the dagger. The blacksmith staggered backwards, dropping the hammer as he clutched at the belly wound.

Unwillingly, Rupert was forced to his feet, and he stared into the melee. Diablo was on the ground, hamstrung, as the others chopped his body to pieces. The demon still lived, but no one was paying attention to the corrupted shards that Belial was picking up. Then he reached for the last one, and a katar pinned his hand to the stone. "Not this time, bastard," Natalya shrieked, dropping her psychic cloak and breaking his elbow with a kick.

Belial screamed in outrage as she snatched the last shard, leaping away and vanishing through a crack in the wall. But he ripped his hand free, the weapon still stuck in place, and moved backwards. As the other heroes moved to confront him, he raised all four corrupted shards, said a word of power, and crushed them in his palm.

Darkness slammed down over the plateau, and in the split second before magical light could be brought to bear, Belial and his two servants had vanished again. Oksana screamed in outrage, throwing her weapons to the ground, then collapsed, sobbing. Tharos moved immediately to comfort her, and the others slowly started to assess their wounds. "So the little runt won again," came the dark chuckle. Diablo's voice was thick and bubbly as blood seeped into his lungs. "I hope you humans can adjust to a world of total darkness," he panted, then closed his eyes.

The demonic body slowly bled away, revealing once again the body of Joranor. Will took one look at the face, then fainted. Boris looked from the body to the paladin, and shrugged. "We need to bandage wounds and then find out what the hell happened here," he said.

"I can answer that," Tyrael said quietly, and light blossomed from one corner of the room. "But please, first go outside and tell Natalya that it's safe to return."

Sere stared suspiciously at the angel while Boris exited, and shortly the two assassins had returned. Tyrael gravely took the last piece of corrupted Worldstone from her, slipping it into a pocket of his robes. "Belial used the power of the corrupted shards to place a spell of darkness around the entire world of Sanctuary." He looked upwards, through the shattered roof. The sun had vanished, and nothing could be seen but an inky blackness. "Without the light, everything will start to die.

"Plants first, then animals and humans. He has finally accomplished what the rest of Hell has not managed for millennia." The angel sighed sadly, and sat on the broken base of a pillar. "In fact, this may have been his plan from the beginning."

The captain stepped forward angrily, still holding his pistols. "So what are we supposed to do? Just lay down and die?"

"I wouldn't have come here if I intended you to surrender," Tyrael rebuked. "Yes, there is something you can do to reverse the darkness, but it may well prove to be impossible. We will be giving you all of the aid we can, but Belial will also be doing what he can to stop you. All of his power will be focused on you."

Everyone stared back at Tyrael uneasily. Six of them had already been called upon to save the world, but they had almost failed before. The two paladins certainly knew this was their duty, the calling they had followed for all their lives, but they felt awesomely inadequate to the task at hand. The other three, the assassins and the ship captain, seemed completely out of place in this gathering of heroes.

Finally, Tharos broke the silence. "What do we need to do?"

Tyrael clasped his hands and took a deep breath. "In the lands of the far east," he looked at Sere expectantly, "there is a place in their kingdom called the Forbidden City. There is a temple there, dedicated to Baal from when the three brothers walked this world." He held the last shard of corrupted Worldstone back to Tharos. "Take this there, place it on the altar, and pray."

Colin shifted uncomfortably. "You want us to enter a temple dedicated to evil, with one of the evilest things ever created, and pray?"

Tyrael gave him a small smile. "Gabriel will be waiting for your prayer, to give you the last of your instructions." He rose to his feet, striding towards the corpse. "We can't tell you now, or Belial would know what we intend to do." Bending over, he tore the Soulstone free, and stepped back to the broken pillar.

He tapped the stone, and the top of the pillar vanished, being replaced with a fiery portal to Hell, and Tyrael dropped the stone through it. "Why did you do that?" Natalya cried out, involuntarily stepping forward.

He looked surprised, tapping the stone and closing the portal. "What did you expect me to do? Returning Diablo to Hell will weaken Belial who, at the moment, is the more important foe." He shook his head disgustedly. "He has been for a long time, but we never realized it."

Tyrael strode for the door, pausing to regard them one last time. "I don't think I need to say that speed is important. The darkness only covers this plateau for the moment, but it will spread with every day. Within a month, it will cover Viz-jun, Kurast in two months. All of Westmarch will be in darkness before a year has passed." Then he vanished outside, the angelic light fading away.

Sere sighed. "Well, I hope your friend will open us another portal to return to my ship in Kurast," he said to Garou, and to his surprise a moment later, a silvery portal snapped open. He jumped back, staring around in surprise, then glared at the portal. "If you're reading my mind, you damn mage, stop it!"

Silvery light blossomed above the portal briefly. _Sorry._ Supporting the injured soldiers, and with Ron holding a bandage tightly to Larzuk's wound, they left the cathedral. After it was empty, all light fled, Belial dropped his illusion. His eyes glowed red in the darkness, and his scowl showed very clearly what he thought.

"Time to travel," he said quietly, and Arkas nodded silently in the blackness.

* * *

On the docks of Haven, Inigra prowled. Despite his heritage, he drew very few glances on the docks. Haven was long notorious for opening her gates to anyone - or anything - that wished to do business. While he was the only sand raider in the city, he wasn't the only demon. He had already been through Bowley's tavern, stripping it of anything he could quickly sell for cash. That, and the handful of gems and Worldstone he carried, should be enough to purchase the ship he wished.

Except for the masts and sails, the ship was almost identical to the ill-fated Smoking Trail and was, in fact, constructed by the same man. Christof was the most famous ship builder in all the western kingdoms, and dozens of rumors floated around as to why he had come to Haven, two steps ahead of the guards of the King of Westmarch. Most of those rumors, fanned in no small part by Christof himself, had him fleeing the King's wrath after being caught in a tryst with the Queen.

Inigra stared at the ship, and grudgingly nodded. It would never last as a pirate ship, he thought gloomily, but vengeance came first. There was no gangplank, but that had never stopped him. Tensing, he leaped up, catching the rail of the ship and pulling himself over the side. Sailors yelled in alarm, quickly arming themselves with cutlasses and belaying pins.

Then Christof stepped out of the cabin, and shouted an order to his crew. They stared, armed of course, but merely stood cautiously in a circle. "So, Inigra. I guess the rumors are true then? You're here for a new ship?"

The sand raider scowled. "You're not so great a ship builder if your 'greatest work' falls to a little bit of magic." The crew muttered angrily among themselves, but still no one made a hostile move. Inigra's reputation was well feared throughout the city, as both a pirate and a dueler.

To his surprise, Christof laughed. "Ah, you poor demon, that was only my second greatest work. Do you think I've done nothing but sit back and idly construct merchant ships for the last decade?" He waved a hand airily. "Of course, I've no doubt you could afford to buy half the city up, so let's talk business."

Reluctantly, his crew parted to allow Inigra to pass. The sand raider was forced to duck to enter the cabin, and in fact was stuck partly hunched over. Christof stopped at the table, shuffling papers around, finally leaving a cleared space. "All right then, how much are you willing to part with?" He stood behind the table calmly, a disarming smile upon his face.

The pirate inched forward, narrowly avoiding several bruises from the crossbeams, and with a blur of his four hands, emptied his current fortune upon the table. Gemstones of all kinds and cuts, but all exceptional quality, glittered like rain, but the dark scarlet of Worldstone outshone them all. As Christof reached a hand towards them, he buried two daggers into the wood, trapping the human's sleeve. "I assure you," he said offended, "I only wish to look."

With a sour glance, Inigra slit his sleeve open, and a half dozen fake, glass jewels fell out, including one rather convincing Worldstone replica. "You cheap piece of gutter trash!" he snarled. "You're thinking to cheat me?"

"What? Cheap, am I?" Christof said angrily. "You insult me, demon! I may not be as good a shark as you, but I still have my talents." He sniffed, and pulled his arm free, heedless of the damage to his shirt. "Double this, and my newest ship is yours to command."

"Double it?" Inigra scoffed. "You're lucky I give you even this much!" They spent several minutes haggling, but finally Inigra pulled forth another few gems and one last shard. "So, where is this new ship of yours?"

Christof smiled happily, carefully collecting the stones, sorting them as he dumped them into a partitioned chest. "Ah, I'll be happy to show you. It's a bit of a surprise, you see, and she'll be ready in two days." Finally, he hefted the chest as though it were weightless.

"What!" the pirate roared, and the door burst open, a trio of concerned sailors staring inside, weapons ready. But Christof waved them back, and calmly exited his cabin. "I can't wait for two days, you faker!"

Laughing, the gray-haired man laughed, waiting for his men to extend the plank down to the docks. "Oh, my dear Inigra, if you keep flattering me thus, I'll wonder if you must really be a doppleganger or some such." He strode confidently down, a handful of his sailors joining him as an escort guard. "Now please, follow, and everything will be explained when we arrive."

They traveled through the docks, stopping finally at a warehouse that almost reached the tide line, on the very edge of the city. Setting down the chest, Christof gave a series of knocks, very quiet, and shielding them from the pirate's view. The door opened, and they strode inside. The inside of the warehouse had been dug away and filled with water, and the largest and strangest ship Inigra had ever set eyes upon lay there. "What is this beast?" he cried out in dismay.

The human looked at his latest triumph with a look of admiration on his face. "I call her the Leviathan," he said. The hull was twice as large as any ship he'd ever seen. There were no masts, and three ballistas sat on rotating platforms. Large crossbows, set at stationed intervals, studded the rails. And the entire upper hull was covered in steel plates. Overall, it had the appearance of a rather square, metal slug, sitting in the water.

"Follow me," he said, and crossed the catwalks of the warehouse to board. "Once the last of the plates are on, then it'll take the slaves a few hours to dig a line to the ocean. Then, with the next tide, we're off." The metal clanked under their feet, and even the doors down to the cabins were plated. "So, where are we headed anyway?"

Christof was stopped by two hands grabbing his shoulders, and the pirate's other two hands were holding swords to counter his guards. "What do you mean we," he asked dangerously, "pale-face?" Even though they outnumbered him a dozen to one, the guards still looked nervous.

But the human merely kept his broad smile. "Well, Inigra, this is a completely new type of ship. It's taken me four years to collect enough Worldstone to get it running and built. You have no idea how it works or, if something breaks, how to fix it. If you want to take off on your own," he looked at the side of the warehouse towards the ocean meaningfully, "then of course, you could."

Gnashing his teeth, the sand raider slowly loosened his hands. "Always trying to set terms, you little worm?"

With a laugh, Christof kicked open a door. "It's her maiden voyage. I think I should be there when she loses her cherry." Then he disappeared below, and with more than a few misgivings, Inigra followed him. The tour of the ship was like a whirlwind to him, with magic used for almost everything imaginable. Worldstone to keep the food fresh; Worldstone to propel the ship through the water; Worldstone to keep the air from becoming stale in the cabins; Worldstone ready to heal the men in case of a battle.

Finally they emerged on the deck again. Christof had stopped several times, removing the shards and placing them into obviously-waiting holders. "Well, what do you think?"

Inigra stared across the steel deck, watching the workers place the last few pieces into place with bolts. "If this great, wallowing beast of yours can't withstand their magic, then I doubt anything can," he grumbled. "But can it catch them?"

"Well, if I designed her right, the Leviathan will outrun any ship sailing the seas," he said, clapping a hand against one of the crossbows. "Where are we going first?"

The pirate smiled dangerously. "That bastard captain Sere said he was headed to Kurast to fight Diablo. So that is where we start." He turned and returned to the cabins below decks.

One of the sailors stepped closer to his boss, and asked quietly, "Are we actually going to be following his orders for all of this?"

"Of course!" Christof said, just as quietly. "I am more honest than a Haven politician, after all."

"You mean you stay bought," the sailor said dubiously.

"Exactly. Or at least, until a better offer comes along." His smile was predatory.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

The heroes stumbled back into the foyer of Cody's illusionary hotel, carting the wounded into the dining room while their host raided his private stock of healing potions. Ron Bars helped lower his fellow barbarian into a chair, holding the bandage in place around the dagger wound. "What happened?"

He grimaced, taking a healing vial carefully from the mage and gulping it. "Belial had another helper there, someone dressed in black-painted armor." He fumbled at his belt, and drew forth the dagger. The pommel was carved ebony of a man, mouth open and tongue torn out. "He hit me with this."

They removed the bandage to pour a healing potion over it, and one of the soldiers fainted at the sight. The wound was already starting to rot, with green pus oozing out with the blood. Cody cursed, dashing out of the room for some other magical remedy. Colin limped over, still favoring a gashed arm, and prayed over the abrasion, slowing the magical poison.

Finally, after an hour, everyone was healed and prepared. Sere stopped at the door. "Um, not that I'm ungrateful to suddenly have more people guarding my back, but no way is everyone going to fit on that little yacht we've been sailing," he said, gesturing at the remaining ten soldiers.

Colin chuckled, clapping him on the back with a smile. "Not to worry. Now that it's been fairly widely proven that Sareal was corrupt, and with me in charge of the paladins, you've got the resources of the Zakarum to draw upon."

"Should we really be sailing there?" Garou asked. "I mean, we're supposed to go east, and I'm sure it's a lot shorter to walk in a straight line than sail half-way around the world to get there."

All three of the assassins shook their head. "The tallest mountains in the world separate the Kehjistan jungles from anything further east. They might not be completely impassable, but it would take us at least a year to get there."

Erris looked glum. "Sailing there is still going to take months. The world could be completely swallowed by Belial's darkness before we reach there!"

Tharos shook his head. "That doesn't matter. We have to move, now, on the fastest ship the Zakarum can provide. I'm sure we'll get there in time."

"We didn't the first time," Oksana muttered as they trekked for the docks. Before the sun had set, the two fastest ships found in Kurast had set sail, bound for the mysterious lands of the east. Sere was the only person who had ever been there, but his memories of the visit were blurred by long years. And of course, being only six at the time he visited, the impressions could hardly be called objective.

* * *

Hadriel pushed open the door to Gabriel's small library room. "Hello, little brother," he said jovially. "How go your plans?"

The other angel grimaced, gesturing to his crystal ball where it sat on the table. The visions within were replaying the battle in Inarius' cathedral, and Hadriel watched for a moment. "I really wish Tyrael would talk to me before promising aid in my name," he said crossly. "I knew how to prevent Belial covering the world in darkness, but unfortunately, they arrived just a few seconds too late."

Hadriel nodded, perching on the edge of the desk with his wings furled. "I have a few interesting words to report from my insect spies in Hell," he said, and smiled as Gabriel's eyebrows raised with interest. "Well, as you know, our brothers and sister in Hell are doing their part to foil Belial's plans as well. And of course, returning Diablo to his place has done wonders for their morale."

The other angel leaned back, crossing his arms with a scowl. "I do know this part already," he said. "You are leading somewhere with this?"

"Of course! Anyway, for a surprise, all of them - even Baal - are following a plan set forth by Asmodan." As he took a breath to continue, Gabriel cut him off.

"I already know all of this, Hadriel. Oh please," he griped at the surprised look, "where do you think Asmodan got his little plan from? He's so desperate for revenge after centuries of humiliation that he was willing to agree to almost anything."

For a moment, there was complete silence in the room, then the older angel nodded slightly. "I had forgotten that you and Belial were born twins," he said softly. "But how in the world did you even convince Asmodan to speak to you?"

Laughing, Gabriel tapped the crystal ball, and the scene shifted.

* * *

Asmodan sat on his throne. His was the first one in Hell constructed from the tortured souls, but of course all of the others didn't remember that. He was the youngest of them all, and they would never let him forget it. Nothing he had done was ever, or would ever be, good enough to satisfy them.

His chamber of Hell was small, rather unappealing, and crowded with tortured souls. It amused him to watch them being tortured, to listen to their screams, and quite often he would retreat into this sanctuary for years at a time. What did they know of him, anyway, those older siblings he had been stuck with?

He shook away the discordant thoughts, reaching out with his barbed tail and eviscerating another soul. The scream echoed through his ears, studded with the bones of the lesser angels he had personally killed in battle. He leaned back again, feeling more satisfied, and then stared down at the entrails, where they had spilled out onto the stone floor, spelling out his name in a graceful script.

For a moment, Asmodan merely stared at the intestines, then he looked warily around the room. Any other demon would have found it unbearably crowded, the souls of the sinners piled atop each other haphazardly as they endured their torments with unseen magic, but every one of them was like a set of eyes to the Lord of Sin. Yet through all of them, he could see nothing.

Scowling, he cast a hand, and incinerated the soul, destroying it, reducing it to a scattering of ashes in an instant. Then, with mounting horror, he stared at the floor. Burned into it with the ashes read, Do you want your revenge on Belial? "Yes," he breathed out, unable to help himself.

"I can help you," came a familiar voice, and Gabriel stepped out from behind a pile of gluttonous souls, feasting on their own selves. "If you truly want revenge for all the insults he has given you."

"Gabriel!" he hissed, angry and afraid all at once. Asmodan's three barbed tails lashed angrily behind him, and his taloned hands clenched. "What do you mean, intruding here of all places? Have you come to taunt me as in the days of old, before our conflict started?"

The angel stopped for a moment, his eyes widening with surprise. "That was not my intent, Asmodan," he said seriously. "I come in peace, and I am serious. If you want your revenge on Belial, merely listen."

The demon laughed, slowly settling back onto his throne, conjuring a skull filled with wine. "And why should I believe you, of all my siblings light and dark? For you and Belial were once the closest of us all."

He sighed, laying a hand against one tormented soul. "The stronger and hotter love burns, the easier it can turn to an all-consuming hatred," he said quietly. "That is a lesson I am sure you have learned from the souls you keep here." When only an angry hiss greeted him, he turned back. "Do you wish to hear me, or should I leave?"

He sat on his throne, thinking desperately. But finally, his curiosity won out, and he nodded slowly. "Very well," said Gabriel with a smile. "I of course, do not expect you to make any sort of promise, nor would I believe you if you did." He then set out to explain his plan, with Asmodan sitting pensively, listening attentively and occasionally shouting with surprise at the ingeniousness of it all.

Finally, the angel turned to leave. "As I said, if you wish your revenge on Belial, merely do what I have said. Or if you are still so distrustful of me, do not."

"Why did you come here, Gabriel?" he asked, leaning forward and staring intently.

"For the moment, our purposes match. We both wish to see Belial brought down, his plans thrown into ruin. Is that not enough?" Casting a last smile over his shoulder, Gabriel left the chamber.

Asmodan sat there for several minutes, talons clicking against the horns on his chin. Finally, with a broad and devious smile, he reached out, tearing the head from a soul. "Speak this message to Baal," he instructed, and then laid out the plan for his eldest brother.

* * *

Hadriel sat back, clearly impressed. "That certainly was insightful of you," he said. "But how did you already know that they've been following your plan?"

Gabriel sat back, looking a little surprised. "Tyrael mentioned your little network of ants, so I've been looking through them as well. I figured they were open-sourced to the three of us."

Rubbing his head, the older angel looked a little chagrined. "Ah. I hadn't thought that you'd use them, actually."

"Yes, well, I do like to get my hands dirty sometimes. Figuratively speaking, of course," and they shared a chuckle. "Anyway, unless there's something else, I have a lot of work to do to keep our part of this plan working."

Chuckling, Hadriel headed for the door. "Yes, since your ounce of prevention didn't work, I'd imagine getting the pound of cure is far harder. Oh well, look on the bright side - if we could stop everything by being omniscient, this would all be so much less exciting."

Gabriel stared at the door as it closed, then ruefully shook his head. "Exciting?" he asked rhetorically, then bent over his crystal ball again.

* * *

By the dawn sunlight, Xia tramped wearily through the marsh. The market for herbs and traditional cures had become a rather cutthroat business in the city of Lao Wai since the plague had started last year. Sometimes literally, she thought with a shudder, noticing a body caught in the reeds not too far away. But it was far from the first dead body she'd seen. Her family had been healers for years, and with her being the only child, it was her turn to take up the duties.

This was especially important, now that her father was sick. She was barely the age of a woman, but what could she do? She had no brothers to take up the job while she did the cooking and mending at home with her mother, and certainly the woman could not go out to do this job herself.

Before long, the reeds and scattered trees gave her good shelter from the sun, still so torturous even in wintertime. And then she found the plants she wanted, a special breed of water lily, and she drew a small knife from her belt. The flowers were well prized for making a healing tea, but the roots, she had discovered, did a far better job. She smiled grimly, thinking of the fat merchant who had tried to cheat her.

The sun was almost at noon by the time she had finished filling both of her bags with the flowers and roots, and she turned to slog back towards the road to the city. When leaving the marsh, it was always best to do so by the shortest and most traveled route, the better to avoid bandits.

Still, she thought, perhaps it was better in these times to be a girl. Many of the boys she had known had died, trying to hunt down the demons that prowled the borders. And the plague, of course, struck everyone. Then she was out of the marsh, shading her eyes from the bright sun while she squeezed water from her clothing. Not so many people were on the road as there were last year, she thought. And it was easy to locate where Lao Wai was from the many columns of funeral smoke.

She quickly joined the groups of traders and villagers traveling to the great city. Many people went there every year on pilgrimage to the Noble Shrine, and to gather outside the walls to the Emperor's Palace and dream of the wealth and beauty within. Xia sighed, remembering some of the outlandish tales she had told to her friends while they all washed clothes at the stream.

Then suddenly, the two traders in front of her collapsed, arrows through their chests. She stared uncomprehendingly for a moment, then quickly dropped to her knees as people all around her started screaming. She fought to crawl to the edge of the road, to hide in one of the ditches, but the raiders were out on the road, waving around their spears and herding the traders together. If she left their group, she would be exposed, and they would kill her.

Then one of the raiders grabbed Xia from behind and snatched at her two bags. She screamed and fought with him, flowers spilling out as one bag pulled open, and the raider raised his spear to strike her down.

With a sudden fountaining of blood, the raider's head fell away, and he slumped to the ground, releasing her hold. Xia worked quickly to wipe the blood from her eyes as she heard the screams and the fighting. Before she could look around, someone had grabbed her arm, picked her up, and she was thrown into the ditch.

Stunned, she lay at the bottom, coughing around the fetid water that lay at the bottom. When she had recovered, she crept along the bottom of the ditch, trying to get away from the raiders and whoever had appeared to fight them. One hand then slipped, and she looked up as she realized it had slipped off someone's boot.

He bent over her, but his face was covered with a red cloth, and he held up a finger, gesturing for her silence. His clothes were cut simply in a peasant style, but they were very high quality. And on his back were two swords, one long and one short, both slightly curved. Xia began to shake in fear. Everyone had heard of these warriors, but until today, she had believed them to be merely stories used to frighten children at night.

He rose up, peeking over the edge of the deep ditch, then pulled forth a jug of water, and helped her to wash off the worst of the blood. Xia merely kneeled there, allowing him to do what he wished. Clearly he was no one she could hope to fight. Then, to her surprise, he pulled down the cloth covering his face, and helped her out of the ditch, guiding her back towards the city.

Everyone on the road made way for them, and her spirits fell the closer they came to her home. In the terminally crowded streets, no one so much as brushed her, and she felt the isolation keenly. Then she realized he had stopped right before her door, and started shaking in fear again. But her mother was already pulling the door open, and Xia followed him into her own home.

"What are you doing here, Chiang?" her mother asked, and nothing could have prepared her for that shock. She fainted, and only the warrior's quick reflexes kept her from falling to the floor. "After so many years, why are you so determined to destroy my reputation now?"

He gave her a reverential bow. "Believe me, o fair Jasmine, that was not why I came." He grunted as she kicked him in the shoulder, but straightened again without a sign of pain. "Lo Pan has need of your healing skills," he said simply, and she stiffened.

"How do you know I will help? Or that I can?" She turned away from him, not wanting to meet the look in his eyes. "You know that I chose to have nothing to do with your Order many years ago. Or has your master forgotten that?"

"Lo Pan has forgotten nothing. But three days ago, he had a prophecy, a vision of an overwhelming darkness that will cover the earth. Then he fell ill with the plague." Chiang continued to stand there, almost statue still, as he spoke. "He knows that you are the greatest healer in the city, despite your low-born rank, and sent me to ensure that your daughter returned with the medicines to heal him."

Jasmine stood there for several minutes, apparently lost in thought. "And why should I help that wretched old man?"

Chiang looked down at the unconscious Xia, and she could not help but follow his gaze. "If you do not, darkness will cover everything. What will happen to your daughter and husband when demons rule the world?"

She cursed him, and he stood there, stolidly as before. "Is Lo Pan at least man enough to pay for a healer's services?" In response, Chiang pulled out a pouch and tossed it to her, the rich sound of silver coins clinking in her hands as she caught it. "Very well. Let me wake my daughter first and gather my things."

The warrior continued to stand there in the middle of the room while Xia was awakened. "Listen to me, daughter. I have to go with this man to heal his master, Lo Pan. You stay here, bar the door and care for your father." Jasmine straightened, going into the next room and gathering up several small things into a bag, then taking several of the roots Xia had harvested. "I will return soon, perhaps tomorrow."

"But mama, he is a demon!" Xia cried out, shrinking away from Chiang as she scrambled to her feet.

"No," her mother contradicted her. "He is a fool, and more stubborn than a mule most times, but he is not a demon." She sighed, reaching for the door. "That is his master."

Then they were gone into the streets, leaving Xia staring at the closed door in fear and shock.

* * *

On the seas north of the Amazon islands, Inigra stood on the deck of his new ship. They had reached the island two days faster than his previous ship could have done, and truthfully, he was quite impressed. He'd also spent a great deal of time skulking around, listening to the workers. Once he understood enough to run the ship on his own, then Christof and his men would be dropped somewhere.

He scowled, and looked down at the deck. They other sailors had made a wide berth around him when he brought forth the child he had kidnapped the day before when they stopped for supplies, and there had been just enough blood to make a proper circle. It wasn't easy, drawing it on the middle of a ship on the ocean, but he'd had years of practice with his own ship.

Inigra raised all four of his swords, chanting in the warbling language of his people. He was sure, in some back corner of his mind, that all of the crew who could were gathered around the far side of the deck, watching his ritual. But all of his attention were on the words of the ancient song, the story of how his people gained their powers.

The sailors watched the ceremony with thinly-veiled suspicion, Christof especially watching with narrowed eyes from the pilot box at the rear. Then the pirate reached the crescendo and a burst of hellish fire filled the blood circle. When it cleared, the slug-like figure of Duriel towered over everyone on the deck. Sailors screamed in fear, some reaching for weapons and others fleeing below decks. One desperate man even threw himself overboard. "Why have you summoned me here," Duriel roared in the sand raider language, "little pest?"

Inigra smiled, genuflecting to the demonic lord. "Oh great Duriel, savior of my people, I have summoned you to ask a boon of you."

The demon scowled, pressing forward against the wall of the blood circle. "You, maggot, wish to ask a favor of me? Do you think I am your personal valet?"

"I saw those humans who stopped you so many years ago, great lord!" Inigra shouted over the angry questions, and Duriel stilled, thinking. "I have seen them on a ship, traveling to stop your brother Diablo, and I wish your aid, so that I might properly teach them of vengeance."

The Lord of Pain sat back for a moment, sizing up the pirate. "Indeed, you have about you the weight of one who has brought much misery and suffering to the world," he said grudgingly. "Tell me then, how would you teach them of my vengeance?"

For the next hour, as the sailors listened horrified, Inigra spoke of tortures and methods to cause pain that most of them had never imagined or heard of. Finally, with a satisfied laugh, Duriel nodded. "You are truly a great one among your people. Give me your sword, and you shall have my blessing."

Inigra gave another bow, drawing his best blade and tossing it into the circle. Somehow the demon caught it, and then proceeded to carve up one of the great claws he bore as arms. The pirate watched hungrily as a sword formed from the demonic bone, and finally it fell ringing on the deck next to his other blade. "You have a weapon, little raider, and it will serve you well in your vengeance." Flames shot up to surround him, and he vanished from sight.

Christof handed control of the wheel to one of his sailors, and came storming out of the pilot house. "Are you mad?" he ranted. "Summoning one of the Lords of Hell onto my ship? It could have disrupted everything!"

His words spluttered to a halt as Inigra spun around, his new sword in hand. Metal screeched as he dragged the edge along the steel plates, but in the end it was the metal that gave way, leaving a groove as he raised the sword to stop an inch from Christof's face. "I am the master of this ship," he said dangerously. "Do not forget it again."

Cradling his new weapon carefully, Inigra vanished below decks, doubtless for his cabin. The old man watched him disappear, then slowly pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the sweat from his brow. "I'm having serious second thoughts about this," he muttered worriedly.

* * *

Mephisto placed the crimson Soulstone atop the Hellforge, and stepped back. Legions of demons, and all of his siblings, the other masters of Hell, watched as Baal raised the hammer and shattered it to pieces. Within minutes, Diablo's body had begun to reform, his essence free of its magical prison. When he again stood on the shores of the River of Flame, the demons let out a great shout, shaking the very firmaments of Hell.

"Welcome back, brother," Andariel crooned sweetly. Her brothers echoed the sentiment, but Diablo grumpily waved it all away.

"Is it true then? Has Belial won, outwitted all of us to end this conflict on his own?" He gnashed his teeth, clawing furiously at the empty air.

Baal draped a calming arm across his brother's shoulders. "Not here," he said quietly. "We mustn't lower morale too much amongst the troops. Follow us to Asmodan's lair, and we can lay out the true plan." Baal led the way, his face almost serene, basking in the cheers of the demons - and the occasional screams of agony when he trampled a slow mover.

Eventually, they reached Asmodan's cave, closing off the tunnel entrances with their magic and gathering around. "So what are we do to about the little runt," Diablo asked angrily. "He has outwitted all of us, made us look like fools, like his personal bitches!"

"I resent that," Andariel said quietly, but not particularly forcefully. "But Belial has been manipulating all of us since before this conflict started. Now, we might have a chance to stop him."

The crimson-scaled demon nodded grudgingly, settling his bulky form on a pile of flesh. "So what is the plan?"

Baal and Asmodan did most of the talking, with the others listening again to the master plan of how to outwit Belial, and turn his plan into their own destruction of Sanctuary and a victory in the conflict. Finally, Diablo sat back with a thin smile upon his face. "I have only one question, Asmodan. When did Gabriel come to you with this plan?"

Duriel and Mephisto growled with anger, turning towards him, but Baal's upraised hand stopped them. The smallest demon shrank back, his hands twitching nervously. "I approached Baal with it the same day," he answered quietly.

Scowling, Andariel feinted towards him with her claw-tipped arms. "You stupid little baby," she chided, "falling straight into their trap!"

But Baal's laugh cut off any further comment. "Stuff it, sister. Gabriel has been the only one of us to ever outwit Belial. And even if his plan is a trap," he looked gravely around the room, "it still is probably our best chance for stopping him and teaching him a lesson."

Diablo tapped his claws against the stone, thinking. "But to finish the plan, one of us will have to return to the mortal world - outside of a summoning circle. And all of us are forced to wait due to those damnable heroes!"

Asmodan smiled slyly and inched forward again. "Not so, brother. I am not laboring under any such difficulty."

Duriel slithered forward at that. "And I know how to get him summoned to the mortal world at the correct time. There is a sand raider, a follower of mine, sailing after those heroes in a rather incredible ship. Since they are going towards Belial …" He let the words trail off, confidant that his siblings would finish the train of thought.

Diablo leaned back. "So all we have to do is have your servant summon Asmodan at the right time. Then Belial will be back in Hell, and we can enact our revenge upon him."

"It won't be easy," Baal cautioned. "He's obviously been working at this since the beginning - our exile, to shatter the Worldstone and allow him to enact this darkness spell over the world of Sanctuary." He caught everyone's gaze, one at a time. "He will have prepared for every outcome he could imagine."

"I doubt he's prepared for this one," Diablo said quietly. He rose and banished his magical wards, the others following his lead and departing back into their personal corners of Hell.

Baal was the last to depart, and he paused at the entrance to turn back and look at Asmodan, sitting on his throne of flesh. "You do realize that Belial will likely kill you for this," the elder demon said.

"I know," he said grimly. "Even if it means my ultimate destruction, I wish vengeance." He sat there, silently brooding, watching Baal walk away.

* * *

Inigra was awakened by a sudden crash inside his cabin. He was out of the tiny bed in an instant, four weapons held at the ready. But it was only the small mirror, fallen off the wall and lying in pieces on the floor. He cursed under his breath, and started to lower his weapons, when a black mist boiled up out of the mirror's pieces. It formed into a rough facsimile of Duriel's face. "Listen, my servant. Those heroes are headed for a city in the east, where they plan to visit an abandoned temple to darkness. Arrive there first and wait in ambush. When you arrive, summon my brother Asmodan, and he will explain more."

Then the mist was gone, and the pirate lowered his weapons again. "Baal's teeth," he muttered quietly, then finally sheathed his swords. He unbarred the door, moving swiftly through the cramped corridors, almost trampling several of the crew in his haste. Christof was asleep, only natural at an hour past midnight, but the pilot box was manned, and he swung up and into the box, hulking over the pilot. "We're heading towards the countries of the east. Can this thing go any faster?"

The human stared up at Inigra's inhuman face, and gulped. "Well, yes, but not for long periods of time," he stammered.

"Punch up the speed a bit," the sand raider growled, looking out through the open window at the empty sea in front of them. "We need all the advantages we can get on this trip." Without another word, he stalked out again, descending to the main deck and pacing back and forth. Nervously, the pilot nudged up the speed control to two-thirds, and the Leviathan gave a barely perceptible lurch as she sped up.

Three score miles behind them, the pair of Zakarum ships sailed along silently in the darkness. Garou paced the deck, sleepless and almost alone. Other than one man on the wheel, and another up in the crow's nest, the ship was filled only with the slumbering. He sighed, leaning against the rail and watching the shifting reflections of the stars on the water, then raised his head, sniffing.

He cursed under his breath, turning paler, and threw himself at the mast. "Raise a white flag," he shouted, and other sailors sleeping on deck awakened. "Raise a white flag!" he called up again, scaling up the rigging towards the crow's nest.

The watchman above muttered something unflattering, then set about unrolling the flag. He had only started to tie it to the ropes above him when a dozen grappling hooks came flying out of the darkness on both sides, latching onto the ship as the pair of Amazon ships came gliding up from behind them. The druid cursed, scrambling back down a little bit before launching himself off the rigging to land heavily on the deck. "No fighting!" he shouted desperately, even as the Zakarum were drawing their weapons.

The other ship was faced off with three Amazon warships, and Garou knew it could only be Ellonwye and her friends. But they hadn't gotten the last message from Munin about their sudden aid from the Zakarum church, and naturally, they had been harassing passing ships. He regained his feet, stumbling towards the larger of the two ships and yanking off his white shirt as he ran. "No fighting!" he called again desperately.

But both sides seemed to be eager to pick a fight. To his surprise, only a few arrows came flying out of the darkness, and he wasn't sure if that meant they couldn't see to fire, or if they had another plan in mind. Bowser came leaping onto the deck from below, growling at the sudden confusion of armed men.

Then the first ship was less than a dozen feet away, and someone on board the Amazon vessel raised a staff. Blinding white light flared forth, and Garou fought to keep his eyes open, waving his shirt desperately. He heard the whistle as a pair of arrows cut past him, and the roar as Bowser threw himself across the gap, landing on the other ship. Men and women shouted, but the massive dog leapt again, landing on the man bearing the staff.

It flew from his hand, and the light suddenly dimmed. "Bowser, heel!" the druid shouted, just in time before the massive dog tore the other man's throat out. The dog had a half-dozen arrows hanging in his sides, but seemed completely untouched by it. "Who the devil are you and what is the meaning of this?"

The man coughed, wheezing as he regained his breath with Bowser still looming over him. "I am Achilles," he finally managed, "and you Zakarum have several prisoners, among them my daughter Erris and her husband."

Scowling, Garou turned towards the hold. "Damnit, someone go wake up Ron, and tell him to get up here and talk some damn sense into his father-in-law!" Achilles gaped as a soldier jumped to do his bidding, and within moments the other heroes were on the deck.

The other Amazon ships were called off, but not before almost two dozen people lay dead or wounded on both sides. By the time dawn rose, the leaders of both sides were gathered on the deck of Achilles' ship to discuss tactics. Ellonwye and Erris embraced happily. "Well, daughter, at least our warriors are still as good as ever," the older woman said, somewhat sadly. "But what are you all doing, cooperating with the Zakarum?"

Tharos explained the entire situation, from Sareal's betrayal of the Council through Diablo's betrayal by Belial and the summoning of the darkness. "That was almost a week ago," the necromancer said sadly. "The darkness probably covers all of that mountain, and it's spreading every day."

"This is bad news indeed," Achilles said. "Our islands will be very badly struck by this. Without the sunlight, the jungle plants will die. When they die, so too will the animals. What can we do?"

"We have to get all the way to a city in the east," Sere said. "A place called Lao Wai. There's apparently some sealed temple of evil there that we have to reach to stop this spell of darkness." He sighed, then looked up at the masts thoughtfully. "You know, it wouldn't take much to make your ship like the Smoking Trail," he mused.

Achilles frowned thoughtfully, and the two of them wandered about the deck, discussing ship construction and how to get the most speed out of their vessels. Ellonwye sighed, smiling at her husband. "Well, what must us warriors do to aid you?"

Colin held out a hand. "The important part is getting there in time. But if you can, send a ship home to warn your people. They'll have to prepare supplies for months, and they won't have a great deal of time." Carefully, the Amazon shook his hand, showing her willingness for a truce. "And if your ships are faster than ours, we need to bring more soldiers aboard."

Ellonwye nodded. "Truly, this is the most important thing we can do. I regret the fighting between your people and ours." They stared at the rising sun in the east, frantically eager to reach their destination.

* * *

Jasmine was escorted into the room, past a pair of armed guards almost as stoic and blank of face as Chiang. She sighed, remembering how familiar it had all been to her, once upon a time. Then, of course, she had fallen in love with her husband, and discovered what a demon Lo Pan truly was. It had driven her away from the library and the famous philosopher, but that was a small price to pay.

He lay on a cot, with one of the servant girls wiping down his forehead with a damp cloth. Sure enough, he suffered from the same plague that gripped the entire country. It did not kill so many as most people thought, but that made it no less scary. As a healer, she had a duty to use her services to heal anyone who needed help, but she almost felt that for Lo Pan, she could make an exception. Then he opened his eyes and saw her. "So, Jasmine, you return to us after all," he wheezed out.

She gave as small of a bow as she could get away with, and moved to the side of the cot. "Chiang gave me little choice," she said, throwing the man a dirty glance. "He saved my daughter from bandits." Gathering her dress, she knelt beside him and tied a cloth mask in place. "How long have you been sick?"

He answered her questions as best he could, while his servant girl continuously wet his forehead, attempting to keep his fever down. He stopped frequently to cough, and she noticed the blood he tried to hide from her. "Why did you send for me?" she asked finally, scooting backwards as he reached for her.

Lo Pan coughed again. The plague had aged him so quickly he could have passed for her father. "The end of the world is coming," he said thinly. "Darkness is coming to cover the world, brought on by the Dark Ones. Our only chance for survival is to ally ourselves with them."

Jasmine's mind reeled. Everyone knew of the battle between good and evil of course, with the Dark Ones fighting for the cause of evil, and the Bright Ones fighting for the strict cause of good. While the philosopher had often been on the verge of heresy against the Emperor before, he had never been this blatant. "You are a fool," she whispered.

"A fool? Perhaps." He stopped to cough again, not even bothering to hide the blood this time. "But the Dark Ones have won their battle finally." His face looked drawn and pale, and for a moment she pitied him. "Night is already starting to cover the world. When it falls at last, the sun will never again rise. I might be able to bargain with them for us to survive, but only if you heal me!"

She thought about it for a moment. Of course, when he said bargain, he meant only for those who lived and worked at his library. Lo Pan cared for no one but himself, and it had taken her a long time to realize that. "I can do one thing for you," she said, and bent over to rummage through her bag.

She drew forth the dagger and plunged it into his heart, so quickly that not even Chiang could react. His hand was on her wrist a moment too late, and she stared into the philosopher's eyes as his life faded away. "Do you have any idea what you've done?" he asked in his quiet, always level voice. "You have taken away our hope."

Jasmine stood up, shaking free of his hand angrily and leaving the knife where it lay in Lo Pan's heart. "If your hope was to bargain with the Dark Ones, then you had no hope," she spat. The servant girl was crying and sobbing over his body, but she ignored it as she gathered up her bag. "I need to look something up in the library," she said, turning away.

Chiang grabbed her arm before she had even taken one step. "Why should I let you use these books for anything, you filthy murderer?"

"Do you really want to survive the darkness?" He matched her gaze for several tense moments, then finally nodded. "Then release me and let me work." She carefully slipped out of his grasp, and stepped back into the main library. The scrolls were all very well organized into their cubbyholes, but it had been many years since she walked through them. Finally, she found the one she was looking for, and drew it down. "Find me a mirror and a pair of yellow candles," she said with authority, not even waiting to see if anyone would follow her order.

It had been many years since she tried to summon one of the Bright Ones for help, but it certainly seemed like a better plan than Lo Pan's, she thought grimly.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

In a small village bordering the river that led to Kurast, life proceeded as normal. While the occasional demon still wandered the forest, they were smart enough not to bother the well-organized hunters and trappers of the village. A trio of children chased each other around the central square, picking up mud caused by the night's rain and pelting each other, while their parents scolded them all.

Then the wind started to pick up. It was not unusually hard or swift, but the winds never blew to the south. The women, washing clothes on the riverbanks, stopped their work, gossiping and gazing up and down the river. The two small fishing boats stopped, the men holding the nets as they too stared about. Then one of them shouted, pointing south, down the river and where this ill wind blew.

The darkness came up like a wave, and they watched the light vanish as it crept slowly but inexorably forward. As the light slowly vanished, the jungle turned black, foreboding and sinister, much as it had been when the Prime Evils were loosed upon the world, though they were still many leagues from Kurast. Children started to wail, rushing into the reed huts for shelter, and the fishermen drew their nets in quickly, dumping the fish back into the river as they hurried for shore.

It took most of the day for that line of shadow to creep forward, finally reaching the edge of the village with the sun already low in the western sky, turning half the sky above them a rich, ruddy crimson. Then the hunting party burst out of the jungle, leaping out of the darkness as though vomited forth. All of them bore wounds, and one poor man was carried between two of his fellows. As their friends and families rushed forward to help them, the strongest of the hunters pointed back into the blackness. "Demons," one said simply.

Everyone prepared themselves with what few weapons they had, knowing from harsh experience that fishing nets and skinning knives did little good against a pack of Fetish or goat-men. Then they gathered in the center of the village, slowly backing away as the line of darkness started to creep across their reed huts.

When the sun set, it took a few minutes before the light was truly gone. One of the women worked quickly to light the large bonfire, others grabbing any fuel that was quick to hand, even going to far as to tear apart part of a reed hut. Red eyes glinted from inside the line of cursed night, watching and moving at the fire.

Still the darkness crept over them, engulfing the entire village as it crawled forward inexorably. They stared out into the darkness, huddling fearfully in the thin light of their fire, suddenly no longer able to see even their huts, a few paces away. Inside the darkness, they could not even tell which direction was north. Glinting eyes surrounded them, ringing the small clearing, waiting for the right time.

Finally, one of the hunters, mad with frustration and fear, gave a battle cry, fitting an arrow to his bow and taking fire at the demons. His shot found a mark, as a demon screamed, and then the rest streamed forward.

Months later, when the darkness would at last be lifted, nothing would remain to mark where the village had been, save for some bones, hidden under a thick blanket of dead leaves fallen from the dead trees.

* * *

Two days later, the Amazon ships pulled into a small port on the south side of Kejistan, little more than a small trading city, a place to resupply on the long sail from the Amazon islands up to Lut Gholein and Kurast. They had pulled in shortly before dawn, and by the time the sun rose, sailors and shipbuilders were swarming over the ship.

Sere, Colin, and Ellonwye had shelled out a prince's ransom in gold, gems, and Worldstone shards, but if it could be done by sundown, it would. While Sere supervised the changes to the mast, bringing the sails closer to his beloved Smoking Trail, the others sat below in the mostly empty cargo hold and discussed their plans. "So, what are we supposed to do now?" Will asked, looking around at the others.

Tharos chuckled. "Well, once we get there, we have to find the Forbidden City."

Colin nodded. "I remember hearing of that place. Where the Prime Evils first appeared in the world, Baal took over a kingdom. Once the Horadrim drove him out, the traditional rulers walled off his palace, and killed anyone they caught trying to get in."

"So then, how do we get in?" Natalya asked.

The older paladin shrugged. "Pray, perhaps?" He looked around at the somewhat surprised looks. "Well, we could use more council from Tyrael and the angels. Can you think of a better idea?"

Oksana smiled unhappily. "Tyrael tends to be confusing and unhelpful at the best of times."

Leaning back against her husband's chest, Erris chuckled. "What did he call us the first time we freed him from Tal Rasha's tomb? A bunch of misfits?"

"Something like that," Tharos said. "But Colin has a point. We do need more information." As he opened his mouth to say more, silvery words burst into light above his head.

_This is Cody,_ they read. _Inigra has another ship, constructed by the famous Christof, and powered by Worldstone. He's already four days ahead of you._ Oksana cursed, while Erris quickly tried to explain who the pirate was to the others. The words erased, and new ones returned. _You can catch him, if you leave before the next dawn. Oh, and Gabriel says the gates of the Forbidden City will be open when you get there._

For a moment, everyone sat there in silence, then Garou chuckled. "Well, now that all our questions have been answered, anyone up for a game of poker?" Laughing, he ducked behind Bowser while Natalya threw her shoe at him.

And surely enough, the work was done, barely minutes before the sun vanished over the western horizon. The ships were on their way within the hour, cargo bays stuffed with food and water for the next two months. It was time to go hunting.

* * *

They walked on endlessly, Rupert plodding along next to Arkas and Belial. The demon, obviously, had no need for rest, and sometimes it seemed as though the human slept as he continued to march along. Grimly, he looked down at his arms, where the flesh continued to slowly rot off of his bones. With Diablo returned to Hell, the icy cold of winter returned with a vengeance, and nowhere stronger than the mountains that separated Kehjistan from the lasts further east.

He had been glad for the bitter cold, and the snow drifts that piled up taller than even the giant Belial, as they kept away the rot, and the pain it brought with him. It was a constant thing now, gnawing at his thoughts and trying to steal away his sanity, but Rupert held on tightly to what remained of his human mind. He did not want to become one of the undead he had once slain so easily, and briefly he wondered whether they had wished for death as they attacked him.

But they had been back down from the mountains for three days now, plodding through forests and along rough dirt roads, past rice and wheat fields, the farmers tending them paying no attention to this trio. Rupert sometimes wondered whether it would be worth it to run at one of them, try to speak with his rough, croaking voice, or whether he could make it two steps off the road before Belial dragged him back.

Then the demon suddenly stopped, taking the other two by surprise. Rupert finally looked up, staring ahead of them down the road, where the edges of a mighty city could be seen. Somewhere up ahead, half hidden by the haze of winter fires, came the glint of gold. "We're almost there," the demon hissed gladly, and they started forward again, the two humans almost running to keep up with their master. The crowds of people were thick around the stalls, but there was always a clear path.

Then, as they turned a corner, the gates of the Forbidden City came into view, and all of Belial's plans changed.

* * *

Two months had passed aboard the Leviathan. By this time, they were short a few crew members foolish enough to pick a fight with the pirate, who now paced the decks almost constantly. Christof stood in the pilot house, one hand lazily holding the wheel as the metal ship shot through the waves. "Damnable demon paces like a caged panther," he muttered under his breath, rubbing his chin. Irritably, he picked at one of the scabs he had gained the previous week when his ship rode right through a hurricane.

At that thought, he smiled, rubbing the polished oak with a thumb. He was a lot older than he looked, and felt worse. The Leviathan was one of his best creations. No, he thought after a moment, it was certainly his best. They would reach this mysterious port that Duriel had told them about, and then Inigra would depart to find this cursed temple and set his ambush.

Then, of course, it would be up to Christof to ruin the ambush and turn the tides on Inigra. If he had realized what a burden the pirate would have been, he would have planned something to kill him the first week. He shook his head again, staring out at the deck, where the four-armed demon continued his endless pacing, four swords strapped to the odd harness on his back.

He made a small adjustment to the wheel, turning them a little more to the north. Thankfully, the sun was almost straight behind him at this time of the afternoon, and the pilot house was rather cool. Christof readjusted his chair, sticking a foot on the wheel to hold it steady. Surely, he could take a short nap while they sailed.

Less than a hundred yards behind them, the two Amazon ships closed silently. Sere's modifications to the sails had them practically leaping through the waves with barely a splash, and the warriors of both ships prepared. Boris stood at the bow, holding his newest contraption and staring at the metal beast wallowing ahead of them. Natalya looked at it oddly. "Don't tell me, you get to mow down armed soldiers with your new toy."

He grinned, and offered it. "What, you want to try it out instead?"

She considered it for a moment, then shook her head and trying to hide a smile. "You're far to good with changing our traditional traps, Boris." Grinning, he patted her head, then turned back. The long cylinder had a telescope marked on the side, and he had spent most of the last two weeks carefully marking the glass for distance and angle. Soon enough, they were within fifty yards, and he looked back towards the wheel. Ellonwye nodded, pumping her hands in the air, and Boris slammed a finger on the release button.

Inside, the carefully stretched and wound cords snapped back into place, propelling another large firebomb out and away, impacting perfectly against one of the hatches to the Leviathan's hold. The door crumpled, wedging into place firmly, and one of the sailors screamed, knocked sideways into the rail as his clothes and hair caught fire. Inigra turned, running for the rear of the ship and squinting into the sun.

The other ship had a ballista mounted on the foredeck, and Colin yanked on the lever. The bolt sped across the distance, slamming into the steel plates with a loud clang, before falling harmlessly into the water with nothing but a dent to show for it. "Hurry with the next one," he shouted, helping Will to recrank the weapon.

Christof finally managed to get back to his feet, yanking the wheel to spin his ship around. Sailors were swarming up through the other hatches, swords at the ready as they rushed to man the two dozen crossbows spaced around the rail, and their own team hurried to load their own trio of ballistas. The next firebomb took one of them square, and he scowled, hearing his men's screams and the sharp twang as the ballista rope snapped.

Sere stared in surprise as the Leviathan turned around, almost perfectly within her own length. "Faster with that damned ballista," he shouted down, worried as he spied the other two armed and waiting. The two ships were less than ten feet away, passing next to each other, when they both fired. Colin's shot blasted away part of the rail and a pair of crossbows, and the Amazon archers, many of them perched in the rigging, did not miss a single person. The return crossbow bolts shot holes in the sails, and he fought down tears as a body fell, silently, to the deck.

Garou smiled at Jezebel as they passed along the other side of the metal ship, and they loosed their spells together. Half a dozen lightning bolts slammed into the steel plates, sparking along the ship and sending rivets popping out. Then Garou's whirlwind touched down on the deck, sending sailors spinning away, holding desperately to their lifelines. Too soon, the ships were out of range, and they all started their turns, everyone eager to rejoin the battle.

The two barbarians waited near Sere, Ron stationed at the edge of the rail. "You sure you're ready for this?" Larzuk merely smiled, holding his crystalline hammer easily. "Fine. If we can get that close again, it'll be easy."

Sere snorted in amusement. "Next time I'll try to get you close enough you can kiss the damned pirate." His ship was the first around, meeting Christof's ship as they both finished their turns. Then Larzuk took a few running steps, leaping up as Ron took his foot on the last one and launched him into the air.

Inigra was ready for the barbarian, his swords dancing forward, only to be met with the hammer on his sturdy armor. The bone sword gifted to him slashed deeply, screeching across the plate mail, leaving a furrow in the enchanted steel. Then the hammer swung, and he was forced back several steps.

Christof shouted at his crew, frantically reloading the ballistas and trading bolts with the Amazon archers. In furious desperation, watching his sailors being cut down, he leaned over and shouted into a tube. "Ready the Eel!" Down in the bowels of the ship, where his Worldstone-powered contraptions were kept, the sailors down there paused for a moment in shock, then set to their task with a will.

Jezebel launched another dozen lightning bolts at the ship, and then a fireball, but all of it had little effect on the well-armored ship. "I might as well be shooting at stone!" she ranted, and Garou merely put an arm on her shoulder. Even Tharos' powerful bone spears did little more than dent the steel plates.

Then the second pass was done. Inigra and Larzuk rampaged across the deck, fighting furiously as the other sailors fought only to avoid them. The pirate's four swords repeatedly drew blood as they found weak points in his armor, but within moments that hammer would sent him flying across the deck empty of breath. As he leaped to his feet again, turning to meet the implacable barbarian, he heard Duriel's voice in his mind. _The shore is near, less than a mile. Hurry!_

With a cry of frustrated rage, he turned, dashing away and leaping up to the front of the pilot box. "We're less than a mile away," he growled at Christof. "Full speed ahead!"

Then he jumped, barely a moment too soon, as the hammer buckled the deck where his leg was a moment before. His bone sword took a piece off the shoulder with a spray of blood, then the hammer sent him flying into the rail. One of his swords went spinning into the water, the steel glinting in the sunlight for a moment before vanishing under the water.

The two Amazon ships had turned again, gaining on the Leviathan. Then Christof lowered his hand to a red button, grimacing as he tried to look out the pilot box behind him. Finally, he pressed it. With a massive surge, a ring of lightning poured out across the ocean waves between them, scorching the wood and leaping up onto the decks. Zakarum soldiers screamed as the electricity arced through the armor, jumping from person to person through their heavy chain mail. Then the energy was gone, his Worldstone temporarily drained by the weapon.

Inigra leaped to his feet again, barely a foot away from the back rail, waiting for the barbarian to attack again. Just as Larzuk charged towards him, Christof moved the speed levers all the way forward. The ship lurched to the fore, sending everyone skidding to the deck. With a howl of anger, Larzuk slammed into the rail, the weakened iron bar breaking free and sending him down into the ocean. Inigra dropped another sword into the ocean, holding grimly onto the rail and his bone sword.

Will threw a rescue line out, and they reeled in Larzuk, fighting against the heavy pull of his armor. The ships hurried after him, wondering what brought on his desperate escape, when the cry emanated from both crow's nests above.

"Land ho!"


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

Jasmine sat silently at the empty table as Chiang set down the supplies she had asked for. His face was carefully blank, but she could see the doubts in his eyes, and she sighed inwardly. With careful hands, she positioned the mirror and candles in the proper positions, folding the yellow silk handkerchief and placing it along the upper edge of the mirror. Then she lit the candles, took a deep breath, and bent over, exhaling upon the mirror and fogging it. Before it could clear, she took up the cat hair brush and drew several words onto the mirror.

The words were barely visible with the misting cleared away, but she knew they were correct. Dipping the brush into the pot of ink, she retraced them, then waited a minute for them to dry, and leaned over the mirror, exhaling again. Chiang gasped as the mirror lit up, bursting forth with silver light, but Jasmine merely smiled. "Oh wisest of the Bright Ones, I call upon you. Share with me your wisdom, I beg, that I might use it to help those around me."

The mirror shivered, but stayed in place on the table. It started to rock in place, rising up on one spot, then turning, like someone had spun a round coin. Finally, the mirror was standing straight up, whirling round until it seemed little more than a shining, silver sun in the middle of the library. Lo Pan's students and followers gaped incredulously at her, standing back as far as they could.

Suddenly, the mirror stopped turning, and the light all but vanished. Hadriel's face appeared in the mirror, and she heard gasps of surprise. "Well met, Jasmine of Lao Wai," the angel said. "Go to the Forbidden City, to the temple once dedicated to the Lord of Destruction. Spill a drop of blood upon the door to open it, then wait. You will know what to do."

Before she could even open her mouth to speak, the mirror shattered into powder, the beaten silver turning into tarnished gray dust as they watched, and the round wooden frame fell back against the table with a thump. Feeling a little unsteady, she rose to her feet, Chiang putting a hand to her arm. "Well, Jasmine?"

She blinked up at him, and nodded. "To the Forbidden City we must go then." Her hands shook with fear, and anticipation. Many centuries ago, when the Prime Evils first walked the earth, Baal had taken over a peasant farmer, using his magic to bring the entire country to worship him. A magnificent temple was built, and a palace to house his mortal frame. When the demon was driven away by the Horadrim, the emperors had returned, and built a great wall around the palace and temple, and declared death to anyone who dared enter the walls.

There was only one gate, sealed with Horadric magic that no one knew how to open, until the angel told her now. Chiang's hand tightened on her arm, and she glared at him. "You know that the emperor's guards will stop us."

To his surprise, she pulled free. "No, they will not. The Bright Ones will see to that." Then she was gone, running out of the library and into the streets of the city. Cursing, Chiang followed after her.

* * *

The city docks rushed up on the ship, but Christof held his course, Inigra standing beside him, vibrating with tension. "Beach the ship if you have to," he said eagerly, "because I'm not letting them gain another yard on me!" The sand raider leaped down from the pilot house, running across the deck near to the bow, waiting for just the right instant.

He waited until the last moment, then yanked back on the control rods, watching through the open window as Inigra jumped again, flying through the air as the Leviathan crashed into the docks. Wood splintered, and people screamed, running away and being thrown into the water as the metal beast shuddered to a halt.

Boris shouted, pointing, and Ellonwye turned sharply on the wheel, trying to slow their ship before she came to a similar rest on the docks. Sailors pulled on the sails, fighting to slow her, and Sere's ship was doing little better. Then they were aside the docks, ramming into small fishing boats and merchant ships, and all of the warriors jumped off. Racing along the docks, they followed after Inigra, desperate to catch him in time. Ellonwye and her Amazons, however, went a different direction, clambering over the shattered wood to reach the Leviathan.

Christof watched the other two ships come to a halt, and gestured to one of his men. "Get out a white flag, damnit! I'm through with all of this fighting." Reluctantly, they complied, his crew still hoping for a final showdown with the warriors they had so recently engaged. Faced with three dozen Amazon archers, they disarmed themselves, sitting on the deck and waiting.

Inigra ran through the streets, humans screaming and fighting to get out of his path as he raced along. He could see the spire of the temple, rising ironically towards the sky and still glinting brightly with beaten gold. His two swords were more than enough to deal with the unarmed crowd in his path, and dozens of bodies littered the streets as he passed.

Then, up ahead, a contingent of men stood in the streets, their weapons unfamiliar to him. But when they raised them to their shoulders, the pirate suddenly remembered Sere's pistols, and threw himself sideways. Bullets whined past him, slamming home in the crowd behind him. The pirate laughed loudly, racing forward unnaturally fast, swinging the bone sword like a scythe. Ice crystals flew through the air in its wake, turning the whole street suddenly into a blinding mass of swirling snow.

He heard the soldiers crying out in fear and shock, and a few more shots fired blindly down the street, striking buildings or people. Then he was among the soldiers, and past them, his entire body almost coated in human blood. As he emerged from the snowstorm, he found the street deserted, and the gates open. With a shout of triumph, he ran through them, down a long empty street and up the stairs of the temple, charging towards the open doors. _There is the altar,_ Duriel spoke within his mind, _now do what I have bid!_

But as he stepped through the door, a tiny foot stuck out, and Inigra tripped, sliding across the smooth marble floor, his swords spinning off into the darkened interior.

* * *

Larzuk and Ron Bars led the charge, Boris right on their heels, with katars in his hand and his contraption abandoned on the ship. The others ran along, needing only to follow the trail of blood and corpses to find the temple. They skidded to a stop around a corner, coming face to face with a fresh squad of soldiers, their rifles held at the ready.

But before any attacks could be launched, Tyrael's voice boomed out across the street. "Go!" Without even stopping to look for the angel, the heroes raced through the gates of the Forbidden City and into the temple.

Belial stood on the street, cursing as he watched the heroes disappearing into the temple. "Arkas, get in there after them. Find the last shard, and take it from them in any way you can!" With an angry wave, the demon blinded all of the soldiers, then strode forward again. A small glimmer of hope had resurfaced in Rupert's chest when he realized that Belial had forgotten about him. He stopped there, watching as the demon vanished into the temple silently, then turned. If he could find his companion's ship, he would wait there for them. Perhaps they could find a way to end his undeath.

Inside the temple, Inigra leaped to his feet, just as the two barbarians came rushing in the door. But even as he scuttled backwards, he shouted out the magical words Duriel had given him. A massive green flame leaped up from the tainted altar in the center of the circular temple, and Asmodan stepped forward. "Is there a real big difference between fighting one Lord of Hell, and fighting two?" Sere asked quietly.

Asmodan chuckled, descending from the raised dais, and the pirate quickly regained his swords. "I have no quarrel with you, humans, only with him." He raised a hand, and several balls of sickly green flames shot forward, exploding around the door. Belial's invisibility wavered for a moment, then he was gone again.

They formed a circle quickly, facing outward and gazing into the darkness of the temple. Asmodan stood quietly on the dais, Inigra at his side, and Jasmine and Chiang stayed hidden behind the opened doors, listening and watching. Then Asmodan launched another barrage of green flames, impacting a scant few feet from where Tharos stood. He and Jezebel screamed, caught in the edges of the flames as they struck Belial.

The others charged forward to attack, the battle quickly turning into a three-way melee. Inigra wasted no time trying for his revenge against Larzuk, only to be bowled down by an angry Bowser. Arkas waited on the edge of the battle, avoiding attacks as he watched carefully, to try and determine who held the piece of corrupted Worldstone. It had been given to the necromancer, but he no longer bore it. Asmodan traded magical attacks with Jezebel and Garou, his three barbed tails lashing out to keep the assassins at bay, shrugging off the stings from their small firebombs.

With an evil grin he stepped forward, raising his sword and giving a mighty swing. Will's head separated from his shoulders, flying through the battle to thud against the altar. The piece of corrupted Worldstone, shining with a dark light, went with it, still attached by a gold chain, and flew over to land on the other side of the altar. As Asmodan leaped over the altar, Sere's pistols tore a pair of holes through his torso, and he landed past it.

Belial appeared then, holding up the corrupted shard in his hand and smiling evilly. But just as he opened his mouth to speak, Inigra sliced out with his bone sword, cleaving the demon's hand off and seizing the shard himself. As Belial fell back in shock, and the heroes turned their attention on him, he raced around them, hurling himself through one of the temple windows to the outside.

"After him!" Erris shouted, racing through the front door and back to the gates of the Forbidden City. They caught a brief glimpse of Inigra, scaling the sheer ten-foot wall like it was a ladder, then they were all running back for the docks, chasing him down.

After they left, Jasmine and Chiang slowly stepped out from behind the door, looking around the temple. Blood ran freely everywhere, and Will's head lay on the evil altar, staring at the broken window with empty, sightless eyes. Then they heard a scraping noise from the other side of the altar, and slowly worked their way around the room, until finally they stared down at Asmodan.

The demon lay in a puddle of foul-smelling blood, but his eyes blinked up at them. He opened his mouth to speak, but Chiang's sword nailed his head to the ground. The warrior stepped back, leaving his sword in place as he watched the corrosive blood start to eat away at the steel. Then Jasmine grabbed his arm, and he turned around to see a hidden panel slide open at the base of the altar.

* * *

Rupert made it to the docks, shuffling through the streets as quickly as he could, fighting against the growing pains in his rotting muscles. "You will not fall down," he muttered to himself, the slurred words barely recognizable. "Will not!" Then he looked out at the chaos on the docks. He recognized the two Amazon ships, a few crew members fighting to extricate the ships from the merchant ships each had rammed.

But his attention was drawn to the Leviathan, and the three dozen Amazon archers standing guard on the deck, the sailors of Christof's crew sitting angrily on the deck, disarmed and waiting. Rupert moved forward, climbing over the broken planks of the dock, ducking fearfully whenever another piece slid loose to splash into the water. But with the other destruction, no one seemed to notice his approach with Belial's spell still hanging on him.

He noticed the leader of the warriors talking with a gray-haired man in the pilot box, assuming he must be the pilot. Somehow, the woman struck Rupert as familiar, but yet he couldn't place her face. Carefully he shuffled across the deck, feeling something pulling at him from inside the ship. But the only entrance to below decks was behind a cluster of warriors, and he wasn't confidant enough to try and slip past them.

Inigra came leaping suddenly over the broken planks of the dock, landing on the Leviathan with a clang, his swords cutting down two archers before they could even turn around. Some of the crew was cut down, but they rose in anger, grappling with the Amazons and seizing weapons. Within a few seconds, the battle was pitched on the deck, the Amazons forced to fight with knives and short javelins against the sailors armed with cutlasses and cudgels.

Ellonwye spun on Christof, but he stayed seated quietly, a furious look upon my face. "I'm not in the fighting anymore, lady, but I don't expect my crew would listen to me if I asked them to throw down their arms." With a matching look, she popped out of the pilot box, loosing a trio of arrows at Inigra as he raised his sword to strike down another of her warriors.

He dodged the arrows, barely, but then the other heroes came clambering over the broken wood, joining the battle. The sailors still outnumbered their opponents by threefold, but none but Inigra had the experience in battle that the others did. Inigra found himself faced off against the two barbarians, struggling to block and dodge their powerful blows while Bowser harried him from behind.

Rupert watched it all helplessly, seeing Belial appear on the edge of the docks, holding the stump of his arm tightly. Then some of Inigra's blood dripped down on to the corrupted shard he still held, and Belial's eyes shone. He shouted out, in Duriel's voice, "Break the shard!" Without hesitation, Inigra hurled the fragment away from him. The others watched helplessly, and Inigra died with a vicious smile on his face even as one of Ron's axes split his head in half.

Suddenly, Rupert spurred into action, racing to the edge of the deck and leaning over the rail, stretching out and grasping the shard in his hand. When it touched his flesh, the stone burst into black flames, and he screamed as it tore away Belial's illusion spell. In desperation, Rupert fell to his knees, reaching out the way he once did for his paladin powers.

The Leviathan gave a sudden lurch, and then metal gave way with a screech. A shard of Worldstone came shooting up through the deck, piercing Arkas' leg as it flew through the air to hover in front of Rupert. Other pieces came flying up from the machinery below, shattering the steel plates and melding together, hovering in the air before Rupert, while the paladin screamed in pain. The flames from the corrupted shard were working their way up his arm, consuming the flesh and turning his bones to blackened ash, held together only by the foul magic.

Finally, all of the pieces had come together, leaving a ball of Worldstone as wide as the wheel. The black flames had covered Rupert's body completely, leaving him as only a skeleton of ash with two glowing spots for eyes. Then he raised his arm, and thrust it into the ball of Worldstone. The two sides fought for dominance, red and black flames fighting back and forth. Everyone watched helplessly, even Belial, as Rupert stopped screaming and raised his face to the sky. His jaw moved soundlessly, and a bolt of whiteness slammed down from the heavens.

Everyone fought to clear their vision quickly, everyone but Natalya. While everyone else had been focused on Rupert, she worked quietly around behind Belial. When the light struck, her katar slipped between the demon's ribs, and he grunted suddenly as the weapon destroyed his mortal frame. Thus, when everyone could see again, the second thing they saw was the Lord of Lies, stretched out dead on the deck of the Leviathan.

The first thing, of course, was the ball of Worldstone. It lay, fallen against the deck, a perfect sphere of red stone, and all of them could feel the magic power it radiated. Behind it was a small pile of ashes, being slowly dispersed by the winds. Larzuk fell to his knees, dropping his hammer with a sharp clang, burying his face in his hands as he sobbed.

* * *

Jasmine drew in a sharp breath as the child crawled out from the space beneath the altar. He held up the dark colored shard, speaking quietly, his voice echoing in the large temple. "This is a very bad thing," he said solemnly. "Gabriel said you need to destroy it."

Chiang stepped forward, grabbing up the shard, then dropping it as his face turned white. "That thing is evil!" he said in a harsh whisper, holding his hand as though it had burned him.

Jasmine knelt, carefully picking up the purplish stone. She shuddered in revulsion, feeling the corruption calling out to her, trying to seduce her. Part of her was indeed tempted, but she knew better than to listen to a creation of the Dark Ones. "How do we destroy it?" she asked the boy.

He looked at the shard, then back at her. "I dunno," he said quietly. "Maybe hit it with a rock?"

She looked at Chiang, and without a word he drew his sword and surrendered it to her. Jasmine carefully set the corrupted shard on top of the altar, then raised the sword and brought it down, pommel first, onto the evil stone. It exploded with a roar, Belial's dark magic being sucked down into the altar as the building began to shake. Chiang picked up the boy, and they ran for the doors, struggling to keep their feet as the building began to collapse behind them.

When they emerged into the sunlight, they almost went falling down the steps, finally catching themselves on the smooth road stones. They turned around, watching the temple collapse, falling in on itself until the pile of rubble barely rose to the level of the street. "I am glad that is over," she said with a sigh of relief. "Now I can go home and check on my daughter."

"Not so fast, woman," came an imperious voice from behind her. All three turned around, only to come face to face with almost a hundred riflemen. In the center of them, staring down, stood the Emperor.

* * *

Belial appeared back in Hell, and he stumbled. The other Prime Evils had all experienced the jolting, shocking feeling of being killed and yanked back to Hell, but this was the first occasion the Lord of Lies had been subjected to it. But he had been too surprised to stop Rupert when his victory seemed so close at hand. And then, once he had touched the shard, it was too late. He opened his mouth to rage, and the bolt of green flame struck him in the back.

Belial spun around, only to be confronted with all six of his siblings. Baal gave him a furious, evil smile. "So nice of you to rejoin us, Belial," he hissed quietly. "Time for you to pay the piper," and all of his siblings prepared their own magical attacks. Belial threw up a wall of illusions, but so many magical attacks came through there was no way he could avoid them all. His cave was small, sparsely decorated, lacking many of the opportunities he could have used to fool them and escape.

The battle raged for hours, and finally Belial, broken and hanging on to life by a thread, used what he thought was his last option. He staggered behind his throne of souls, and used his magic to twist its appearance, quickly layering on dozens of illusions. Clad only in a thin invisibility spell, he staggered across the room, hiding behind a stone pillar. Surely enough, the others took the bait. Asmodan blasted his throne with green flames, the others hurling bolts of cold and lightning while Andariel screeched encouragement in the background.

It fell to the ground, scorched, and Baal carefully examined it as Belial cancelled all of those spells at once. The "killing" blow had been one of Duriel's claws, almost taking the head from Belial's simulacrum. The Lord of Lies hunched there in the darkness, holding his breath and leaving only his thin invisibility spell to keep him hidden. "You idiot, Duriel!" Baal roared suddenly, whirling. "I didn't want him dead, merely punished!"

The smaller demon shrank backwards a step. "That wasn't supposed to be a killing blow," he protested. "Mephisto's lightning strike drove him right into me!"

Quarrelling, with Baal and Diablo dishing out token blows to the others, they left the cave. Even after they had departed, Belial still hunched behind the rock. In all his millennia of life, he had never come quite so close to his own death, and he stayed huddled there, rocking slowly back and forth, barely breathing. His eyes constantly roved the destruction of his cave, but they seemed to focus on none of it.

After some indeterminable time, Belial gave a final shudder, then started to rise to his feet. "I was wondering when you would get up," a voice said quietly, and the demon fell back against the wall with a shriek. Gabriel sighed, sitting on what had once been a remarkable obsidian statue. "Despite his words, I am surprised Baal let you live."

"What do you want, Gabriel?" he hissed angrily, raising one broken hand and reaching fitfully for his magic.

But Gabriel shook his head, a tiny smile upon his face. "You do realize it was my magic that saved you, Belial." They locked gazes for several seconds before the angel continued. "That invisibility spell would have pointed you out like a beacon once they took down your double. Surely you realize that much."

Grudgingly, the demon nodded. "I suppose you saved me out of the goodness of your heart, then?"

Sighing, Gabriel turned away, staring out of the cave entrance at the gloomy features of Hell. "Have you forgotten the face of our mother, Belial?"

"Do not speak to me of her!" His voice was suddenly thick, choked with pain. "What do you remember of her?"

Looking over his shoulder, Gabriel smiled. "I remember enough, brother. She said she would not return to us until we had finished with this ridiculous contest that our father set us on. And if we had done nothing, the contest would have been over, and Heaven would have won."

The shocked look on Belial's face said enough. "Do you really think this battle is one decided by strength of arms? Since humans appeared on the mortal world, capable of choosing good or evil, the battle has been over what they chose." Gabriel drummed his fingers against the stone quietly. "Your spell of darkness has brought humans together, fighting side by side in friendship and companionship. They turn towards Heaven in times of adversity, all but a few of them."

"Then why didn't you end it all?" Belial asked quietly. "End this damnable contest, and welcome our mother back with all spoils due the victor?"

"I was outwitted." The demon narrowed his eyes, gazing on his brother with speculation, then chuckled. "Yes, our father still manipulates us to his own ends, as he ever did. And he manipulated us to prevent your scheme, because he wants to end this damnable war on his own terms."

Belial gnashed his teeth, glaring angrily. "Why are you telling me all of this?"

Gabriel raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk on his face. "I thought you were as tired of this war as I was. Otherwise, you would not have forced your hand with this desperate bid to drive the mortal world into darkness." He fell silent for a moment, staring at Belial as though trying to read his mind. "Only once has our father been outwitted."

With a sudden laugh, Belial slumped to a seat on his simulacrum. "So, that's the reason for this longwinded spiel. You want me to switch sides, to help you end the Sin War on your terms. Give me one good reason, Gabriel."

Rising to his feet, he strode to the mouth of the cave, then looked back at his twin brother, seated on tortured flesh, coming back from the brink of death. "I don't ever feel alone," he said simply, then vanished into the smoky gray haze that covered Hell.

Belial sat at the entrance to his cave for days, staring over the realm as his strength slowly recovered, thinking of the angel's words.

* * *

Jasmine walked quickly, surrounded by the knot of the Emperor's personal riflemen. They had of course confiscated Chiang's weapons, and kept them moving at a swift pace. She held the hand of the small boy and did her best to keep him calm. Then the wreckage of the docks came into view, and her jaw dropped in shock.

The soldiers moved quickly towards the great metal ship, and the foreigners aboard. A few archers cried out in alarm, and both sides suddenly raised weapons. "Hold!" the Emperor shouted, striding to the front of his men. Jasmine watched in apprehension. A lucky shot from one bow could end his life, even though the riflemen would kill everyone on board. Then he pointed at one of the men, holding a pair of pistols. "Where did you get such weapons?"

Sere was silent for a moment. He had drawn the pistols when the riflemen came striding up the docks. Another group of about twenty had gone up a nearby dock, flanking them to easily rake the deck. But their leader, judging by the fine quality of his clothes and the fist-sized diamond in the hilt of his sword, was obviously someone important. "I got them from my father, who received them as a gift when he visited this city many years ago," he said loudly.

The Emperor stood there, thinking and stroking his elegant mustache. Then he snapped his fingers and pointed. "Yes, you were the little boy who ran around the deck causing trouble. I remember." He smiled at the memory, then grew more serious. "All of you must come with me. For centuries, the Forbidden City has been sealed, yet all of you entered it. You must explain your actions."

Natalya gave him a sour look, and kicked Belial's corpse. "What about this body the Lord of Lies was using?" In almost perfect unison, every soldier made a warding sign against evil. Several of the heroes glanced around in surprise.

"Leave it. Your ship will not be going anywhere, and my soldiers will make very sure it does not get disturbed." He started to turn away, then caught sight of the giant sphere of Worldstone. "By all the forgotten Emperors, how did you get such a piece of magic stone?"

Larzuk stepped over, resting his hammer on the deck and grunting as he lifted it up. "One of our friends gave his life to stop Belial. This is the result." They matched gazes, the barbarian's burning angrily, and the Emperor's quiet and blank. "If you want answers, let's get moving."

With a tiny chuckle, the Emperor nodded, then turned around, speaking orders to his soldiers. Two dozen moved onto the deck of the Leviathan, taking up stations on deck and settling in for what could be a very long watch. The heroes, and their Amazon compatriots, slowly climbed over the pile of shattered lumber, following the Emperor and his soldiers. Ellonwye glared at one of her archers who didn't return an arrow to quiver fast enough.

Then Tharos and Oksana caught sight of their son, Jaresh, still holding Jasmine's hands. With happy cries, they all met together in a big hug, while the soldiers watched, most with surprise. "Daddy, what happened to your golem?" the boy piped up, as Ron Bars picked him to ride on the barbarian's wide shoulders. But one of the soldiers shushed them, and then they were off.

They marched through the city, the native inhabitants gazing at the foreigners with some surprise, and a great deal of mistrust. Then again, with Inigra's kills still laying in the street, less than an hour dead, some of them could empathize with a little mistrust. To their credit, the riflemen watched everyone in the crowds, not just the foreign warriors.

When they finally stopped, almost an hour later, they stood before one of the most amazing palaces any of them had seen constructed. Unlike Jerhyn's palace in Lut Gholein, the outside was constructed of rather simple material - stone blocks, bricks, and wood. But every inch they could see was covered in carvings, and the stone itself was fit for a monarch - white marble, pale green limestone, and a fiery red sandstone. They passed between the doors, Garou running his fingers over a carving of a pair of wolves on the wooden frame.

The inside of the palace was even more stunning. Clean-burning oil lamps studded the walls, their bronze holders polished and shining, and the smooth wood floors bore no trace of dirt or water marks. Then they at least reached a sort of throne room, and the riflemen split away, marching off to line the walls, their weapons held at the ready, just in case. The Emperor calmly mounted the dais to his throne, a huge thing built of the bones of demons and padded with silk cushions.

He sat down, settling comfortably on the cushions, then looked down, and pointed at Jasmine. "I caught you coming from the temple just before it collapsed. What were you doing there?"

"I believe I can answer all of your questions," came a voice from the doors. When every turned, there stood Tyrael. "All of these brave warriors have been doing our plan, to stop Belial's attempt to plunge your world permanently into darkness."

Tharos couldn't help smirking at the angel. "Took you long enough," he said, sounding amused. "I mean, last time you popped up as soon as we killed Baal."

Glaring, Tyrael turned to look at the necromancer. "I was busy ensuring that everything else had gone the way it should. The magical darkness is receding now, and in another month your world will be back to normal. Gabriel's trick was remarkably effective. He found the boy wandering in the desert, on the brink of death, then slipped away with him, leaving a false corpse behind. Then he hid inside the altar, and when the shard went flying over the altar, swapped it for a carefully prepared shard of normal Worldstone."

Boris suddenly slapped a hand against his forehead. "Of course! We had put the corrupted shard on a chain, and when Belial grabbed it, it was loose."

"Indeed. It worked perfectly." He frowned, looking at the giant ball of Worldstone that Larzuk had set down by his feet. "Though that was rather unexpected. Hadriel was very sure that nothing could restore the Worldstone."

Jezebel perked up. "Wait. Are you saying that we can restore the Worldstone? Bring magic back to the world the way it was before?"

"Not exactly." He held up a hand to stall her further questions. "If you put other shards against this one, they will … melt into place. But some shards have been broken, and so some pieces will never again be put back."

There was a sudden bang, and everyone turned back to the throne. The Emperor slowly lowered the small gavel against the arm of his throne, and glared at Tyrael. "Why was all of this necessary to open the Forbidden City and enter the temple to the Lord of Destruction?" he glared angrily at Jasmine and Chiang. "It has remained sealed for centuries because we wished no one to return to worshipping the Dark Ones."

"Because it was Baal's corruption on the Worldstone," Garou said, surprised at his revelation. "If we destroyed the shard in his temple, then all of that evil magic would return to him, instead of being spread out on the world."

"Indeed." Tyrael smirked back at him. "Since the other four pieces were consumed by Belial's spell of darkness, all of Baal's corruptive magic was linked to that last piece. Which the lady," he gave an idle wave towards Jasmine, "sent back to Baal, bringing the darkness spell to a sudden close."

"This is fascinating," the Emperor said dryly. "But why did all of this have to take place here?"

Tyrael stepped forward, lifting the sphere of Worldstone effortlessly. "The new Worldstone will be placed here, under your people's care. It will not be safe forever, but perhaps as many generations as the barbarian tribes nobly defended it from the encroaching of evil." He stepped forward, holding out the sphere to Boris and Natalya. "These two will start a new monastery here, which you will help them build where the temple used to stand."

His eyes wide with surprise, the Emperor descended from his throne, running a hand along the Worldstone that Boris held gingerly. "You assign my people a great task, Bright One," he said unhappily. "One that will put my land in great danger from the Dark Ones and their schemes."

"We have done well so far, my Emperor," Jasmine said quietly. He turned, looking at her sharply, before finally nodding grudgingly.

Tyrael turned to go, only to be stopped by Larzuk's hand on his arm. "What about Rupert?" he asked quietly, his eyes full of tears again.

With a smile, Tyrael waved his arm, opening a silvery portal into Heaven. The realm itself was spectacular, shining with a warm, silvery light, and in the distance, they could see Rupert. A small set of white, ephemeral wings fluttered from his back, and he stood upon the walls with a scepter in his hands. "He is a guardian of Heaven now," Tyrael said quietly. "There can be no return for him. But you will meet again, someday, when the sands of your own life run out."

They all watched as he vanished through the portal. Then Christof sighed. "Skies above! Please tell me there are taverns in this town, because after this nightmare of a journey, I have a sudden need to go drink myself to death."

Erris glared angrily at him. "What about your great metal beast, cluttering up the docks?"

In surprise, the Emperor turned towards him. "That is your ship? Tell me, how does it work?"

Christof looked towards the sphere of Worldstone with annoyance. "It was powered by shards of that lovely red stone. Unless you mean to chip me off a few pieces of that one, it's not going anywhere."

"I have an idea," Colin said, stepping forward. "I have no doubt that the Emperor can get his hands on enough shards to get your ship up and running again. The Zakarum church will buy your ship, and we will return to Kurast, so to bring back all of the shards that were collected by Sareal's campaign." He looked at the Emperor calmly.

He nodded slowly, stroking his mustache again. "You would return to your people, to bring back more shards, and restore the world's magic?"

Colin merely smiled. "I am a paladin," he said simply. "It is my duty."

The Emperor clapped his hands twice, and several servants appeared. He barked out orders, and the heroes slowly began to talk among themselves, most of them planning for their return home.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

Two months later, the _Leviathan_ pulled up to a dock in Kurast. The last Zakarum soldiers, led by Colin, gratefully departed the ship and headed into the city, desperate to find out how the months of darkness had affected their families and homes. Sere, Christof, and Larzuk stood on the deck, replacing the last piece of broken railing. A few of the steel plates had been removed, the dents hammered out by the blacksmith, and then replaced, making the great metal beast look closer to new.

As they screwed bolts into the base, Larzuk glanced up at Sere. "What are you planning to do now, Sere? I mean, since your ship was wrecked."

He gave sort of a snarling grin, fighting to get the bolt tightened down properly. "Colin has gracefully extended me an offer to captain the _Leviathan_. Probably because he realizes there isn't another captain better in this whole city." He tossed down the wrench, and Christof muttered something uncomplementary as he picked it up. "Since Christof here is going to be giving directions on how to build and maintain another three of these ships, I think I'll be sailing for a while yet."

The old man snorted. "With the amount he offered to pay me, you're damn right I am. I'll be able to keep myself in food and drink until I'm dead and then some." He waggled the wrenches at them. "You just take good care of my ship, you hear?" He turned around and stalked through the repaired door, heading for the storerooms.

"So, what about you?" Sere asked quietly, moving to lean against the new railing. "Heading back to your homeland? Or are you getting off an Lut Gholein and travelling back to Tristram?"

Larzuk was silent for several minutes, staring blankly over the bustling docks. "I don't know," he said finally. "I wasn't really satisfied living in Harrogath, but without Rupert, there's nothing I want to go back to in Tristram either." He glanced over at Sere and held up a hand before the captain could open his mouth. "And now you're going to say something in an attempt to get me into your bed."

Smirking, Sere leaned back and closed his eyes. "Is that so wrong?" They sat for a moment in silence, then he cracked an eye open and stared at Larzuk. "You and Rupert had something incredible. I knew that from the first time I saw you, and I admit, I was kind of jealous. But would he want you to spend your life moping around just because he's gone?"

Larzuk sat on the deck, contemplating his words. Finally, he sighed a little sadly, and stood up. "Perhaps you're right," he said. "I do need to find something to do with my life." He headed below decks, his steps a little lighter.

Chuckling, Sere levered himself upright, walking across the deck of his new ship a few times. Then he headed below decks himself, feeling the sudden urge for a nap. He was quite surprised when he opened the door to find Larzuk sitting on his bunk. "I think I should stay here with your ship for a while," the barbarian said quietly, a gleam in his eyes.

Laughing softly, Sere closed and locked the door.

* * *

Colin walked into the room, heading for the seat at the head of the Council table, in the underground chambers of the Zakarum temple. "I'm glad to see that everyone has made it here," he said quietly, looking at the faces of the other paladins, priests, and warriors. "I'm sure all of you have heard both my story and the accounts of Sareal's betrayal by now." Heads nodded around the table, some eagerly, and others grudgingly.

"So, today we start loading all of the Worldstone onto the Leviathan, in preparation for it to be shipped to the city of Lao Wai to restore the Worldstone." Most of the others around the table started glancing between each other, muttering quietly. "Is there a problem with any of that?"

One of the other paladins stood up. "Sir Colin, does this mean we'll be sending men on more crusades to collect the rocks?"

He shook his head, smiling. "No. What we have will be sent. And starting today, anyone who wishes to sell a shard of Worldstone can bring it to any temple for a fair price." Again, muttering went around the table, most of it unhappy at this loss of funds. "We have been given a task by the angels, my friends," he said quietly, his voice lined with steel.

"Surely, Sir Colin, we don't need to spend so much to gain the Worldstone?" one of the priests asked quietly. "I mean, the faithful will bring it in regardless."

The elder paladin smiled thinly. "We will do whatever we can to restore the Worldstone to how it was before Baal corrupted it. It will not be an easy task, but it is ours." He glared around the table until the muttering had subsided. "Secondly, since the new Worldstone will be kept in the city of Lao Wai, we will be opening a new temple there, to gain converts, and to station a squad of paladins and footsoldiers there, just in case."

This time, the comments were on a much lighter note. Few of the ranking members of the church could resist the thought of putting a church down in an unfamiliar land, to bring the peasants over to the faith and, of course, gain their tithes. He dismissed them with a sigh, then returned to his room.

He shrugged out of his cloak, tossing it on the bed. The quarters here were simple, little more than a servant's room, and just the way he wanted it. Besides, with his family still here in the city, he wouldn't be using it much. Then Colin remembered the gift the Emperor had sent him before they left, and he pulled it out from under the bed. It was still wrapped in multicolored silk, and he ran his hands over the soft fabric for a moment.

Then he turned, leaving his room and descending further into the rooms under the temple. He kept a smile on his face the whole way, but the constant bowing and scraping of the servants and lower ranking soldiers was starting to grate on his nerves. Tomorrow, he thought, he would have to issue an edict to them. They were all equal in the eyes of Heaven, he thought.

When he reached his destination, two paladin guards snapped to attention. The hallway was silent, not what he had come to expect from the stories he had been told. "Is he still in there?" Colin asked quietly, gesturing towards the door with his package. One of the guards nodded, and Colin unwrapped the package. "Open the door."

They exchanged worried glances, putting hands on their scepters before taking the key and unlocking the door. It swung open easily, and Maffer Dragonhand looked up. The twisted half-demon snarled, and lunged forward, and Colin pulled the trigger on his rifle. The bullet tore into his shoulder, throwing Maffer back into the floor. The brass casing gave a ting as it hit the floor, and then Colin fired again.

Backing away, the two guards had their hands over their ears, watching in horror as Colin calmly emptied the rifle's clip into Maffer. When he was done, the former Council member lay on the floor, his head a bloody mess. Propping the rifle back on his shoulder, Colin carefully removed the empty clip and nodded. "Take the body away and burn it." Without another word, he turned away, walking the corridors back to his room.

As he returned to his room, Colin smiled. He rather liked this new rifle the Emperor had given him, and the silk would make an excellent hair scarf for his wife. With an extra spring in his step, he left the weapon on his bed and left the temple, eager to return home to his family.

* * *

Garou and Jezebel stood at the edge of the great Scosglen forest. The trees were still vibrant and alive. They could tell that the darkness had never reached the forest. "So, what will your family think when we arrive?" Jezebel asked quietly.

Garou chuckled. "My parents, if they're still here, will probably be overjoyed. Talking with raven messages just isn't the same, and they've wanted to meet you for a while." He took her hand and started into the forest, a path seeming to open up by itself. "Are you sure you don't want to try and found another school of magic?"

She laughed, leaning against his arm. "After what happened to our last attempt, no thank you. Besides, it made both of us miserable." They were silent, listening to Bowser crashing through the bushes. "What about Dogmeat and Stew?"

"Well, if the soldiers didn't mistreat them, and they haven't found a new home, Munin will bring them here." Garou stopped, reaching up to remove a bright blue flower from a vine and weave it into his wife's hair. "They'll be fine."

For several minutes, they passed through the trees, looking around at the bright flowers, many of them still covered in dew. Jezebel gave a little sigh as a fox, startled by their passage, dashed off and around a tree. "There is something else we can tell your family," she finally said slyly. "I'm pregnant."

In surprise, Garou turned to look at her, and promptly fell over a tree root, falling on his face while Jezebel laughed.

* * *

Tharos and Oksana stood on the road, looking at the charred hulk of what had once been their farm. "Do you think you're up for a little rebuilding, my love?" she asked quietly, watching Jaresh run through the tall grass.

He shrugged. "Well, assuming I can find something decent to make a golem out of, we could have it done in a few weeks." He turned then, staring towards the village. "I wonder how everyone else fared, when Diablo's servant came through here?" They turned and started walking slowly down the road, leaving their horses tied around a tree branch next to the house.

The village had been deserted. Jaresh's fire in the barn had evidently spread to half the houses, and whoever had survived the attack had left, packing up their belongings and fleeing to safer ground. Tharos sighed, looking at the abandoned houses, already sagging from months of abandonment. "Or we could move into one of these," he said, a little dispirited.

Oksana wrapped her arms around him. "Why bother? The nearest town is half a day's walk away. Let's find somewhere new, where they haven't heard of us, where we can live. We can always build another house, start another farm."

Feeling saddened, they returned to the horses, and Tharos lifted his son up onto his steed. "Come on, Jaresh," he said as he flicked the reins, "we're going to find a new home."

* * *

Ron Bars pulled on the line as the ship slowly pulled up to a dock on Philios. To reach Erris' village would be another day's walk through jungle trails, or taking a smaller boat partway around the island. He smiled as he saw his wife throwing another line to the dock handlers, then his attention was taken by the need to secure the sails.

But it was all done soon enough, and they were ready to depart. Ellonwye emerged from the captain's cabin, bidding farewell to the fellow warrior. Hefting their packs, the descended into the city. The buildings were much different - more airy and open, unlike the short, thick-walled homes of Harrogath. He sighed, a little homesick, then followed the two women as they fought through the crowds.

Finally they were free of the city, walking down one of the well traveled roads that connected the many Amazon villages. "It's a little unnerving," the older woman said quietly, "looking up and seeing half the branches with no leaves and shriveled vines around them."

Erris nodded quietly as she glanced up. "Just another negative effect of Belial's magic," she said unhappily. "But then, I suppose you enjoy it more?" she asked, glancing at her husband.

Ron shook his head emphatically. "I may be used to the open steppes, but I liked the majesty of the forests." He looked around at the mixture of dead and living trees that made up the thick jungles of the islands. "But it doesn't matter. The demons have done their best, and we're still here." He took her hand tenderly as they walked down the road. "We'll be here for a while yet."

Ellonwye gave him a sly glance. "So, will you be raising your boys or your girls to be the warriors?"

The barbarian grinned back. "Both, and all of them will be able to beat you in a hunt!" With Erris' peals of laughter echoing through the forest, they all headed home.

* * *

Boris and Natalya stood in the entryway to the palace in the Forbidden City. "Well, this is a surprise," Boris said. Servants were moving around constantly, taking away the gold and gems that decorated the building, and carrying in the more mundane supplies they would need to start teaching new students.

Natalya looked at him sideways. "Which part, us being trusted to train the next batch of protectors for the Worldstone, or the Emperor giving us a palace to do it in?"

Boris shrugged. "Both, I think." He strode back to the doors, looking out at their first squad of trainees, a group of riflemen practicing in formation on the flattened rubble of Baal's temple. "Unfortunately, I doubt more than a handful of these men will be able to keep up with our training."

Chiang stepped through the gates into the city, leading a girl behind him. The two assassins appraised her quietly, watching her move lithely over some of the larger pieces of rubble, still littering the streets. "I think she might do well though," Natalya said.

The warrior stopped and bowed to them, and Boris returned the bow. "This is Xia, Jasmine's daughter," he said, sounding somewhat displeased. "She wished to come see your school."

Boris smiled. "Well then, let's show her around, and see if she can pass the tests required to join." He held out a hand to lead her away.

"But you can't train her!" Chiang blurted in surprise. "She is a girl!"

Within moments, Natalya had disarmed Chiang, and had him laying facedown on the street, his arm twisted around behind his back. The riflemen stopped their drill, turning to watch in surprise. "Look, musclehead, I don't care whether my students are men or women. If they can pass my tests, any one of them will be capable of protecting the Worldstone."

"Indeed, and that is the important part," the Emperor said loudly, standing under the gates. All of the warriors in sight dropped to one knee in supplication for their leader. Natalya reluctantly let Chiang regain his feet. "But some of my people are very traditional," he said quietly to the two assassins. "I will certainly encourage your school, but perhaps you should be a little more, ah, discrete when choosing your students."

Boris nodded quietly. "Can we try to recruit people to train, Emperor, or must we deal with your soldiers?" He glanced at the riflemen, still kneeling. "Very few of them are adequate for the task we wish to set."

The Emperor nodded. "If you can find people willing to join your school and train to protect the Worldstone, go ahead." He looked at the palace. "Now, perhaps we should go inside. Since we will be placing your charge inside, we need to make sure everything is in order."

The two assassins followed the Emperor into the palace, and down into the cellars. There, the workers were busy with their task, enlarging and preparing one of the chambers for the Worldstone to be kept. All three of them watched the new construction, the same look of determination upon their faces.

* * *

Rupert paced the walls of Heaven silently. Though months had passed on the mortal realm, he still felt as though he had been there for mere minutes. His arrival, one of the senior angels assigning him weapons and armor, and placing him on the walls was still a bit of a blur. He stared out over the walls. Down below them, barely more than a blue marble, was the mortal world. He knew, if he concentrated hard enough, he could zoom in to see anything he wished.

And past the blue marble of Sanctuary, lit occasionally by bursts of flame, was Hell. It spread out around Sanctuary, a dark place of smoke and flames. Idly, Rupert wondered if Heaven looked the same from below there. Then he remembered the ever present haze was so thick, it was impossible to see Sanctuary, or Heaven, from the plains of Hell.

He sighed, leaning on his spear and staring down. Everything was quiet now, and would be for a while. Belial's plan had been defeated, and the other Prime Evils had retreated to lick their wounds and plot anew. Then he heard something scrape along the wall, and turned suddenly.

To Rupert's relief, it was not the superior angel Fim who patrolled this quadrant of the walls. To his surprise, it was Hadriel. "Hello, Rupert," the angel said quietly. "Are you alright?"

The former paladin sat on the edge of the wall. "I suppose," he said quietly. "It's all a bit sudden."

"Yes, of course," Hadriel said. "Still, you don't know how few angels get promoted to guard duty on the walls." He reached out to pat Rupert on the shoulder. "We have faith in you."

His tiny wings fluttering silently, Rupert continued to stare down at the other two realms. "Why me?" he asked quietly. "Why did Belial take me and turn me into a zombie?"

Sighing, the other angel leaned against the wall as well. "All of us have spent so long at this pointless war," he lamented. "At first, it was only a game to us. None of us took our roles seriously. But the longer it went on, the more we became what we had chosen." He looked down at Hell as well, pity filling his eyes. "They have spent so long surrounded by torment, it has become a part of them."

"So you mean I was just some toy for Belial's amusement?" He asked, his eyes filling with tears.

Hadriel put a comforting hand on Rupert's shoulder again. "Yes, you were. But that is still what allowed you to defeat him in the end." He gave a last pat, then turned away. "Take a shift off patrolling, go to the gardens and relax, Rupert."

Downtrodden, the paladin turned away. "I don't know how anymore."

With a sigh, the angel went to lead him away. "You'll adjust, Rupert. Once you do, well, Belial and the others won't know what hit them."

* * *

Cody hurriedly came rushing down the stairs of his hotel. He knew that they were mere moments behind him, and silently he cursed his curiosity. He had been so sure that they wouldn't be able to see through his last trick, and now he was almost caught.

Running into the front room, he skidded around the counter, ducking down and picking up the old book he carried. Triumphant, he turned to get out the door and to safety, only to suddenly stop. He looked down at the dagger hilt buried in his chest, and then followed the hand that held it up to the face. He managed a snarl of rage, then everything collapsed.

The citizens of Kurast, walking the streets outside, were taken completely by surprise when the old ramshackle building seemed to explode. The hundreds of overlapping illusion spells all vanished in a sudden flash of sound and light, and everyone not blinded turned back to the building. In fact, nothing stood there at all now, nothing but the book, the old chair, and the two figures.

Slowly, Gabriel lowered Cody's body to the ground and pulled out his dagger. The blade was a brilliant shade of emerald green, and it was all a solid piece of Soulstone. The angel picked up the book, then looked one last time between his dagger and the body. None of the people were close enough, or recovered from the sudden magical explosion, to hear his whispered words just before he vanished.

"I win this round, father."


End file.
